Honest
by RegenbogenLolly
Summary: Sherlock has fallen for Molly, and now has to adjust to having actual *gulp*...emotions. WAY past Reichenbach. Sherlock/Molly (Sherlolly) pairing. Rated T for mild language in some chapters. COMPLETE! :)
1. 1: Liver Cancer

Sirens. Loud, scary, flashing sirens. Molly's eyes fluttered open. A man was crouched next to her, shining a flashlight in her eyes. "Miss. Miss, can you hear me?" Molly tried sitting up, but immediately fell backwards. Two sets of strong arms caught her. "Ma'am, can you speak?" the man asked gruffly. "Yeah, I can," Molly said, having to think about every word. "What happened?"  
"Your cab wrecked, miss." The man spoke to her as if explaining something to a child. "Do you remember anything?"  
"No." she said, rubbing her forehead, where there was a dull ache. She noticed quickly that it was cushioned in gauze. A slight flash of worry crossed the man's face, but he immediately gained composure. "What's the last thing you remember?"  
She sighed, growing frustrated with her brain for moving so slowly. "Leaving.. the hospital. With Sherlock. Where is he?"  
Everything seemed to freeze for what felt like hours, and the cop cleared his throat. "Uh… ma'am, let's worry about you for now."

ONE MONTH BEFORE

Sherlock exhaled slowly. "No." Molly glanced over at the telescope. "Not what you're looking for?" Sherlock rolled his eyes in his usual frustrating manner. "Molly, if it was what I was looking for, I probably wouldn't be saying no." Molly smiled. "Right. Sorry." Sherlock grunted, which was more than she usually got in response. She was okay with that. Ever since she'd helped him fake his death and then, in a really weird way, kind of brought him back, he'd been careful to be kinder to her. It might've been out of respect, but it was most likely out of gratitude. On the other hand, Sherlock didn't really feel anything most of the time.

However, he had to at least feel something. Sherlock had in fact admitted that he had feelings for her, and since then they'd been a makeshift couple. She considered them as boyfriend and girlfriend, but Sherlock probably didn't even think in those terms. It was good enough for her, though. Sure, she didn't expect him to remember anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, Valentine's Day, or anything else of the sort. He was a busy man, and she supposed that she was busy as well. Even though he'd only said he loved her twice, she knew that his feelings were strong enough for him to no longer wave her off as unimportant. Although, Sherlock did seem to enjoy depicting her speech. That never changed.

"Ugh. None of them work. Very well." Sherlock kept a clam tone as he threw away the slides, while his face showed a look of 'time-for-a-killing-spree'. Molly smirked as she cut further into the body she was inspecting. "What could you have died from?" she asked aloud. Mary, who was working on a body to the right glanced over while Sherlock looked from the left. In three seconds, both said quite matter-of-factly: "Liver cancer."  
"Great, now there are two of you to deal with," Molly said in mock frustration, picking up her clipboard and scrawling the letters "LC" under CAUSE OF DEATH. Technically, she was supposed to clarify by exact recognition from herself, but judging by the person's medical records and the fact that Mary and Sherlock were both rarely wrong in scientific or medical cases, she trusted it.

"Well, you seem to like us enough to not kick us out of your lab," Mary replied, swabbing a slab clean with disinfectant. Molly, trying to sound stern, replied "I just might if you keep up your attitudes," but the smile on her face and in her voice made her statement pretty inconvincible. Mary smiled and hung up her lab coat while Sherlock buttoned his jacket. "You coming, Molly?" Mary asked as the two made their way for the door. Molly glanced up from her writing. "Uh, no. I'm working for a few extra hours. There's been a bit of an increase in the number of people who've died recently. Besides, I might be on call for the living tonight."

Mary's mouth hung open. "Are you kidding me, Molly? You're going to work through the night of your birthday?" Molly smiled. "Just a birthday, isn't it? One year closer to death, not quite something to look forward to." Mary snorted. "Crowd pleaser. I think you're turning into Sherlock." She elbowed Sherlock. "Am I right?" Sherlock glared at her, and she awkwardly placed her arm to her side, seemingly remembering that Sherlock was not one for joking, laughter, or subsequently anything fun.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you were a surgeon." Molly shrugged. "I've never really helped living people, but I am a doctor, and the hospital hasn't had much help lately." Sherlock continued to stare at her, attempting to deduce her and see if she was lying. "Do you need help?" he asked in his deep baritone voice. Molly smiled. "No, that's all right."  
"Well, call me if you do," Sherlock said as Mary walked out the door with a wave goodbye. Molly nodded politely at her, and turned back to Sherlock. "Sure thing," she said kindly.

Sherlock's eyes darted from the door to her a few times, as if processing what to do. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead. "Happy Birthday, love," he said in a slightly more emotional tone, but not by much. Molly stared at him in surprise, giggling. "T-thank you, Sherlock!" she said, her voice changing half an octave higher. "Honestly, Molly," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to do that, given our…relationship." He stumbled on the last word, clearly not used to using it to associate himself with Molly. Molly said nothing more, but hugged him tightly. He lightly hugged her back, not really knowing what to do in response, both baffling and irritating him at himself for not knowing what to do. Molly pulled back and gave him a slight salute, going back to her work as Sherlock left out of the door, silently cursing himself for showing affection.

_Well, you have to know that it's pretty hard to avoid someone you care deeply for, _John's voice rang in his head. This was something he'd told him when Sherlock was pissed off in their flat, muttering to himself about how frustrating it was to have Molly around. _You're paying a price for loving someone. That price happens to be a part of your brain, but we both know that you think she's worth it, whether you realize it or not. _

"Oh, shut up, John," he muttered to himself and shaking his head, clearing his mind to try and focus on the case he was working on- hopefully he could have a non-emotion night. He missed those.

… _Do you? _ A voice said slyly in his brain, irritating Sherlock to no end. Wasn't he supposed to be the one controlling his own brain? "Yes, yes you do," he said aloud, shaking his head angrily, but still feeling lighthearted, which angered him more as he forced his case back into his brain, and before he knew it, he was in his cab, lost in thought about who the murderer of two grown men could've been, or if they'd killed each other.

* * *

**Hooray, I've begun another fanfic! This is sort of a sequel to my first fanfiction, but you don't have to read that one (titled "Obvious") to understand this one, I promise. The only thing you should know about this if you haven't read it is that Sherlock is now in love with Molly and is trying to deal with that, which is why he's a bit out of character from the show. I've made him a bit more emotional and lighthearted, because I believe that's what would happen to him if he actually fell in love with Molly. So, happy reading and thank so so much for stopping by, you are automatically a best internet friend of mine! As always, I love ALL feedback, negative or positive because I want to be a good writer, and I really do care about all of your opinions, so R&R is ALWAYS appreciated! So, thank you so very much, and the next chapter will be out soon! **


	2. 2: It's Her Birthday, You Git

"Hello, Sherlock! Fancy a biscuit?" The elderly landlord, Mrs. Hudson, asked as Sherlock walked into the doors of the flat. "No thank you," he said with a nod of his head, and sat down at his desk in the living room, scrawling notes and looking at case files from a manila folder. Mrs. Hudson smiled kindly and left into the kitchen, cleaning supplies in hand.

"Oh, hi there, Mrs. Hudson," John said with a warm smile as he passed Mrs. Hudson. "Wait," Mrs. Hudson whispered, stopping him and staring at Sherlock. "It was in the sink. Throw this away while he isn't looking." She handed him a bag of blood and remnants of something that resembled a nose. John looked at Sherlock, rolled his eyes, and nodded, stuffing it in his pocket.

Mrs. Hudson disappeared into the kitchen, with a triumphant look on her face. Whistling, John began to step out of the door. "Put it back," Sherlock said without looking up, much like a mother who wouldn't be fooled by a child. John sighed. "Well, I tried."  
"Hm, you should try harder, that was quite the failure," Sherlock replied irritably, circling names of suspects in red pen. "Perhaps you could take up some Bartitsu lessons."

John rolled his eyes, then looked at the calendar, and back angrily at Sherlock. "D'you know what day it is?" Sherlock sighed impatiently. "16th, but judging by your ever-so-terrifying stare, I'm guessing you want a different answer."

Quickly, John glanced at himself in the mirror to catch his expression. It did look slightly ridiculous, more than it did angry. He shook his head; that wasn't the point! "Sherlock," he said exasperatedly. "It's her _birthday. _On your girlfriend's birthday, you're supposed to celebrate."

Sherlock looked up, brows furrowed. "What are you on about?"

"You're supposed to _do _something for her!"

"She's working."

"So?"

"John." Sherlock huffed. He hated meaningless conversations, especially ones about the one person he believed he was trying _not _to think about tonight.

"Sherlock, you're smart, but with girls you're a moron."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Which girlfriend are you on? 13? No… 14."

John crossed his arms. "Mary's different. I know she is. And maybe if you opened her eyes you would see that Molly's not exactly a waste of time, either."

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his dimples. "Fine. Humor me. What am I supposed to do on this bloody thing you call a birthday celebration?"

John stuttered. "Well…um, I guess she'd like flowers. Or chocolates. She has a cat, maybe like a… fuzzy sweater for him?"

"That cat is the devil, probably the most terrible cute thing in the world," Sherlock said bitterly. "Your suggestions are terrible. She'll be fine. If she was a waste of time, she'd be the type of person who cares about ridiculous things such as birthday celebrations."  
"Everybody cares about their birthday, Sherlock," John replied, rubbing his head. "Look! You love her, don't you?"  
"Shut up, John." 'Love' was probably Sherlock's least favorite word to put together, except maybe if he put it together with 'murder cases'.  
"You do. And it's her birthday. And Sherlock, if you care for her like I know you do, you'll make it special."  
Sherlock sighed and reclined in his chair. "…Fine. What kind of flowers?"

…

Molly took out her favorite scalpel, then laughed as she saw that Mary had painted in pink and hot glued confetti on the ends. With seriousness forming on her face, she began to cut into the infected wound on a woman's forearm, shaking her head sadly as she realized the infection had most likely been the cause of her death. "Poor girl," she thought, touching the scar on her forearm that Moriarty had given her not so long ago. **[1]**

The cut on her forearm would've gotten just as bad if Sherlock and John hadn't gotten to her in time. Well, on the other hand, she doubted that the cut would've been the cause of her death. Moriarty probably would've killed her in a tantrum if they hadn't shown up.

Just thinking about it made shivers go down Molly's spine, and she forced herself to stop thinking about it. The thoughts of that horrible night were replaced with good thoughts of Sherlock, and she found herself, once again, thinking about what would happen in a perfect world if he was a bit more emotional. She knew she couldn't expect that out of him, and the fact that she had him now was enough, but the more feminine side of her couldn't help but think about fun, romantic stories that she came up with in her mind when work was stressful, or when she couldn't fall asleep. She laughed at herself. "You're a little pathetic, Molls." She hummed slightly in her head as she continued working, but she glanced at the door.

Wouldn't it be so nice if he just burst through the door and spent the evening with her? It would be something she'd remember forever, and it would show her that he truly cared. _He saved your life, he DOES care, _Molly thought assuringly. _He's also told you that he loves you. And he kissed you today on his way out, well… kind of. _She smiled again, telling herself that he showed affection in his own way, and she'd just need to get used to that. Besides, birthdays were for children.

She rolled the seventeenth corpse she'd inspected today and began filling out the report, scalpel clutched absentmindedly in her fist, holding a clipboard in the other.  
"Hello there, Molly."

Molly jumped, spinning around and barely missing stabbing Sherlock's head with the pen and scalpel. "Oh, I'm sorry!" Molly said kindly, setting down her scalpel. Amusement marking his face, Sherlock held out the bouquet of roses that John had picked out for her and handed them to her. "Thank you so much, Sherlock!" Molly exclaimed in shock, hugging him tightly as a tight laugh escaped from her. "I can't believe you got me flowers! That's so thoughtful of you!"

Sherlock actually smiled, something Molly didn't see often. "I was taught tonight that that's customary on birthdays. You don't need to hyperventilate. They're just flowers."  
Molly cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?", and then looked down at them. Her smiled faded as she realized they were red roses. "Oh…" she said raspily, realizing that she was having difficulty breathing.

She collapsed to the floor. "Molly!" Sherlock said in alarm, catching her and setting her down, taking the flowers away from her and laying them on the ground. "You're allergic," he said suddenly, and quickly got up. This was a hospital, he was bound to get medication. "Wait here… oh, what else can you do?" he muttered irritably, mentally kicking himself for being stupid. He never really said moronic things unless they were sarcastic.

The things that that girl did to his brain were severly unfunny.

He bolted upstairs and found the lab to his right, bursting in to find the allergy injection. Taking the needle and prepping it as he ran, he dashed back into the lab where Molly was holding her hair back, her airstream jagged, trying to breathe slowly. "All right, this is going to hurt a little, okay?" he said as if speaking to a child, and took her forearm, gently pushing the needle into her vein.

In a few seconds, her breathing got better, and she rubbed at her throat to soothe it. She swallowed and they both sat in silence for a few minutes as she got her breath back. "Thank you," she finally said. "No problem," Sherlock replied.

After a few more minutes, Sherlock stood up and held out a hand to help her up. When she stood, Sherlock looked into her eyes. "I'm truly sorry about that, Molly," he said. "I'm sorry you had to spend part of your birthday gasping for air."

Molly smiled. "It's okay, you didn't know." Sherlock shook his head. "Sweet, forgiving Molly."

"What?" Molly asked in confusion. "You didn't-"  
Sherlock held her face in his hands. "You don't realize how special you are." He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers softly, and after a few moments, she returned the kiss. After a long, blissful moment, they broke away and Sherlock folded her in a hug. "Happy Birthday, love." Molly smiled. "Thank you."

Sherlock pulled away and scooped up the flowers. "Well," he said, back to his normal tone. "You'll probably want to disinfect anything the flowers touched. I'll see you tomorrow." He winked and walked quickly out the door and caught a cab back to 221 B Baker Street.

When he noticed John reading something while standing up, he thumped the back of his head, causing him to jump and turn around. "What the bloody hell was that for?" John exclaimed. "That," Sherlock said, getting back to his work at his desk, "Was for your horrendous birthday idea."

* * *

**There's the second chapter! I'm happy with this story so far, I have 6 chapters planned out right now, and I'm planning to have 12 altogether. So thank you so much for reading, I love that you all take the time to review my writing and give me suggestions, you're all so lovely :) **

**[1] If you haven't read Obvious, I made Moriarty attack Molly, hence the scar on her forearm. It was from being tied up with rope. That's all the background information you really need to know for that :)**

**I feel as though I'm getting slightly out of Sherlock's character, but I'm trying to make him romantic, and I can garuntee that those are the only moments I'll ever intentionally break his character. I know he's basically a stone, but for the sake of this chapter, I I felt like I tweaked his personality a little bit, for which I apologize, if that bothers you.**


	3. 3: Pink Revolver

_"I'll never let go, Jack. I promise."_

Tears that Sherlock would've no doubt laughed at roamed down Molly's cheeks as she cried out at the screen. "But Rose! The-the lifeboat!" she mumbled, wiping her eyes, and reaching for a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes and liked to think that maybe she'd been a lifeboat for Sherlock. God knew that he'd been hers plenty of times. After faking his death, it seemed like Sherlock was this lost child for a while, or more like a grumpy teenager. At moments, that was fun, and at others it was annoying. Nevertheless, she'd kept him safe for a while, away from the public. And she didn't blame him one speck whenever the reporters hounded the flat. It wasn't his fault, but for some reason he respected her a lot more once he'd left.

Since Moriarty had kidnapped and beat her and Sherlock saved her, what she'd done for him seemed like nothing. Still, it was nice to believe that she'd saved the life of someone who saved countless lives.

Molly heard a hiss, and whipped her head around to see her cat, Toby, crouching by the door in a defensive position. She smiled and hurried over to him, scooping him up in her arms and holding him close. "Now. There's nothing there, see?" She looked through the peephole to see a hockey mask. "Aah!" she yelped, staggering back. Toby leapt out of her arms and snarled at the door. She scooped him up and carried him to his pen, shutting the gate and leaning against the wall next to her coat closet. "Who is that, who is that, _what _is that?" she mumbled to herself in a panic, fumbling around in her purse for her phone. Useless, it was dead.

Groaning, she opened the door to her closet and took out the pink revolver that Sherlock had given her long ago, when he first began to live there, stating that she needed to protect herself in a 'terrible neighborhood like this one.' Personally, she'd never thought she'd need it. Now she was slightly thankful to have it, though she knew almost nothing of how to use it.

"Oh for God's sakes," a voice mumbled from a few feet away. "Molly?" Startled, Molly jumped up and pointed the gun at the speaker, screaming incoherently at the masked man. "What?!" Sherlock held up both hands and slipped the mask up to where it rested on the top of his head. "It's me. Calm down."

"Oh…" she laughed in relief, slipping her gun back into its case. "What are you doing here?!"

"I came to see you," he replied with an expression that could only be described as '_duh!' _and smirked at the panic on her face. "Again, calm down."

"People don't come to just see people wearing hocket masks," Molly said aggrivatedly. "What do you need?"

"Titanic, really?" Sherlock said, looking at the television and ignoring her question.

"Sherlock!" Molly said sharply.

He exhaled slowly. "The hockey mask was for Lestrade."

"Why did you scare Lestrade with a-"

"He was being annoying," Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

Molly smirked. "How?"

"He asked you out, didn't he?" Sherlock replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, but I turned him down," she said. "What's the big deal about that?"

Sherlock cocked his head, looking annoyed; the same way he did when something was supposed to be obvious, but was only to him.

A light went off in Molly's head. She began to giggle.

"What?" Sherlock asked, his expression turning confused.

"You were jealous, so you went at Lestrade with a hockey mask and a plastic bat, didn't you?!" Molly began to laugh hysterically, and began to topple over with laughter and disbelief. Sherlock caught her. "Molly, do you need medical attention?"

"No," she said, wiping tears away from her eyes. "It's sweet. It really is. But I never thought I'd see you feeling jealousy."

Sherlock huffed. "I _don't _feel jealousy."

"Oh?" she asked. "You said you didn't feel love a few months ago, but look what happened."

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes, causing Molly to laugh harder.

A vibration came from his phone, and immediately answered it without looking at the caller ID. "Be interesting," he said, pressing the phone to his ear. "Really?" His expression shifted to interest. "How?" There was an angry sounding noise that boomed from the speaker, and he smiled slightly, looking amused. "Very well. I'll be right there."

There was more yelling as he hung up. "John's yelling at me about milk. He's clearly done something with his girlfriend that less than pleased her, so they're fighting."

"Did he tell you that?" Molly asked, wondering what would make Mary angry with John. There wasn't much that set her off, unless there was an 'obvious' case of death taken to the mortuary and the family refused to believe it was their relative. That was the only time Molly had known her to be irritated.

"Of course he didn't," Sherlock replied simply, putting his phone in his jacket pocket. "John doesn't admit to stupid things he does, especially when it has to do with his girlfriends."

"Then how did you-" Molly began, but Sherlock interrupted her with a kiss. Molly sank into it, feeling dazed, her thoughts all interrupted. She hated that he had that affect on her, but she never cared when it was actually happening.

It was just afterwards that she would have to fume about it to either Mary or her cat. And since Mary was angry, it would have to be Toby this time.

"I have to go," Sherlock said kindly, pulling away and giving her a quick hug. "Nice to see you, love. But try and learn how to use a gun, please. It would be most unfortunate if I had to kill someone for shooting you because you couldn't use the tactic of self defense."

"I know how to use a gun! Kind of," Molly said defensively, her mind still slightly jumbled. "No you don't," Sherlock replied, dragging out his words in a singsong way as he walked out. "You were pointing it at yourself earlier, not me. There's a start."

"Crap," she muttered as he shut the door, staring over at it as if he was still standing there. She loved him more than anything, and he was truly brilliant, such as how he knew automatically that John and Mary were fighting. Nobody could figure that out, certainly not her, and she had a PHD.

He was also the most frustrating man in the world to be around. That was what made him special, though. She was the only one who could deal with his spontaneous actions (sort of), and he could tolerate her personality after she earned his respect.

"See that, Toby? Earned his respect?" Molly asked, striding over to her cat and scooping him up to where he was eye level with her. "That man drives me crazy. I'm lucky to have him though, aren't I?" she smiled, thinking about their kiss. He did love her; he just showed it in strange, small moments like that. It was all he could bear to do as far as emotions, and that was more than enough for Molly.

Toby squirmed, then gave Molly a terrifying death stare. "Oh… sorry," Molly said, feeling nervous at the sight of her cat's irritation. Toby was scarier than Moriarty at times.

Agh… Moriarty. The memory of him automatically dampened Molly's mood. However, it also brought a smile to her lips as she remembered that it was just another thing Sherlock had saved her from. She glanced at the clock and figured it was late enough to go to sleep, so she dressed in her night clothes and climbed into bed, thinking of Sherlock as she drifted off, wondering if he ever thought of her when he fell asleep.

* * *

**Sorry this was so late! To make up for it, I'll post another new chapter by December 28th. I had final exams and family to deal with, but I'm back to writing and being part of fandoms all day. **

**Next chapter will be in Sherlock's perspective. *dun dun dun* Be looking forward to that! If you have any questions for me, please feel free to PM me or comment with one. I'd love to answer them! ^.^**

**Thank you so so so much for reading, and have a wonderful day. Really, thanks for the reviews, and for being so awesome, I appreciate it :) **

**And if you want to give me any feedback at all, I'd love it, because I really do want to grow as a writer. Thank you!**


	4. 4: Trouble

Rain pounded down on the streets of London, leaving Molly in a slightly unfortunate position walking to work. Literally every cab she saw was taken, and the ones that weren't wouldn't stop for her. Therefore, she'd be showing up at St. Bart's not only late, but also with the possibility of being drenched with water.

The streetlights were still on, as it was highly overcast. A few other people were on the street mumbling about the weather or throwing insults at cabbies that wouldn't pull over for them. Some of the pathetic anger brought a smile to Molly's face, and others frightened her more than amused her, such as the 12 year old going to school with a rather extensive vocabulary for his age.

Quietly, she hurried down the street, knowing that if she wasn't 30 minutes early, she might get locked out of the lab, as Sherlock, Mary and sometimes John just locked the door once they got in, leaving her without a workplace at times. When that happened, she had to bother Keith, the janitor, for the key, which always made her feel a bit guilty.

From getting locked out so many times, she had actually gotten to know him a little bit. In her eyes, he was a man down on his luck and had a family to care for. Sherlock had eyed him suspiciously lately, and Molly had seen him with files that had his name, 'KEITH VASQUEZ', written on them, but Sherlock had told her that it was only a mere coincidence; just two people with the same name.

Molly didn't quite believe his story, but she hadn't known Sherlock to lie to her before. At least, not that she knew of. She didn't dwell on it much, though: she was actually very busy with work. Unfortunately and fortunately at the same time, that was also filled with Sherlock, but along with Sherlock came the frustration of, well… Sherlock. His cases and random outbursts and discoveries were both exciting and incredibly confusing. Molly laughed as she wondered how John put up with him 24/7. Not even Molly could handle that. When Sherlock lived with her, there were times when he could be really impossible, yet John never complained to her about it.

She took the back way to the hospital, as it was easier and the London streets were very busy with the normal route. Relieved to be at the hospital earlier than usual, although soaking wet, Molly hurried to the lab doors and tried to tug them open. They were locked, yet the lights were off. "Hello?" Molly called into the door, then groaned. Someone must've come in and locked the door when they left. Wishing she had her own key, she gave up and sulked to the lift, going up to the main floor.

As the doors slid open, Molly's eyes widened at the sight of policemen everywhere, reporters in a large cluster behind the doors, and she hurried over to the counter, where a secretary sat, typing away on her computer with a somewhat irriated look on her face.

"What is all this?" Molly asked, taking off her gloves and putting them in her purse. "Apparently our janitor's been hiding some rather important secrets from us," the secretary replied, sounding bored. "They've been here all morning, which is really distracting."  
"What kind of secrets-" Molly began, then caught sight of Sherlock, and narrowed her eyes. "Oh. Right. Nevermind, thank you."  
"Uumph," The secretary grunted in response.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sherlock?" Molly grabbed his arm and he spun around. "What?" Sherlock asked, confusion crossing his face. "Really? You got the janitor fired? He needed this job!" she said angrily. "And you've gotten him arrested?"

"Obviously," Sherlock replied. "He's a convict. He's not exactly a good man who needs to get back."  
"Well, as I recall, you were arrested not too long ago," Molly retorted, almost instantly regretting it. She knew that these were completely different pretenses, and Sherlock wasn't responsible for what Moriarty had done, but had been accused of all of them for a long time. "Those were under false charges, completely different," Sherlock replied, looking slightly hurt but voice not changing.

"Okay, you're right. That was harsh. Sorry." Molly said, then looked over at Keith, who looked at her with something that seemed like disappointment, or even a hint of anger.  
"But he couldn't have done anything that terrible. He had two kids and a sick mother to care for, Sherlock," Molly said with a hint of annoyance in her voice, turning back to Sherlock. "You didn't have to get him fired."

"He was lying to you," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. "He didn't have any children, and if he did he certainly wouldn't have had all those guns close in their reach in his flat, and he certainly wouldn't have had three dead bodies hidden away in a coat closet."  
Molly's jaw slacked. "He… bodies? Are you sure?"

Sherlock sighed. "Honestly Molly. Who wouldn't be sure about seeing dead bodies? He's a murderer."  
Molly opened her mouth to speak, but Sherlock interrupted. "And before you say he could've been framed, I checked. He used to be in a prison in America for killing seven people violently in California, which was definitely rightly accused, considering he killed three of them in front of a police officer and the other four in front of security cameras in a gang territory in Los Angeles somewhere close to some cowboy-themed bar. How he got to England is convoluted and slightly vulgar, so I'll spare you of the details, but it was clever, very clever, and he's definitely not an innocent and good man."

"It just… the things he said to me made him seem so nice. I didn't think he'd kill anyone," Molly said in disbelief, looking over at Keith again, who looked slightly more terrifying now than she'd thought before. "Molly, there are awful people out there, and they lie sometimes. You shouldn't be so trusting of everyone." Molly didn't respond, but continued to stare at Keith, who glared at her menacingly, in an almost vengeful way. She suddenly felt uncomfortable, and turned her head away.

"Well then, I have some work to do, and it looks like you might as well," Molly said, sounding as chipper as she could. She stood up on her tiptoes and gave Sherlock a quick peck, and disappeared down the lift, going back to the laboratory.

When she arrived back down to the mortuary, she was surprised to find that the door was now open. Mary must've come in and gotten the spare key from their boss. "Hey, Mary, how're you?" Molly asked, taking off her coat and hanging it on the hook, then looked around. "Mary?" She turned around in confusion. Sherlock couldn't have beaten her here, especially without a key. Besides, he was probably talking to the police. "Hello?" She called again, and went towards the back door when a hand clamped down on her mouth and she felt the cold metal of a knife against her neck.

"If you even think about talking, you're dead," a gruff voice responded. Molly closed her eyes and exhaled, trying to calm herself. To her dismay, this didn't work. She was already panicking inside and tried to scream, but her vocal chords neglected her.

"We've seen you with Keith," the voice growled. "Where the hell is he?"

* * *

**Since this story is going a different direction than I had planned, I decided to not have Sherlock's perspective here until a little bit later. It doesn't seem quite fitting yet. Thank you for your patience and thank you SO, SO much for reading. I love reading all of your reviews, they're so nice :) Please feel free to leave more, I love feedback of all sorts.**

**Also, if you have any questions, feel free to PM me and ask away! I love answering questions! Unless the question involves me giving you my social security number, in which case... sorry. But anything concerning my writing, please ask! I promise to respond! :D**


	5. 5: Gone

"Here's your coffee, Sherlock," John walked up to his companion and handed him a mug. "Two sugars, catering to your weirdly specific taste." Sherlock took it absentmindedly, staring at the lift that Molly had gone down not too long ago. "Thank you, John."

John furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the lift. "What are you looking at? …Oh, you're hopeless. You know what else is hopeless? My relationship with Mary at the moment." Sherlock stared, ignoring John as he continued to rant about his girlfriend, something that had become common in their friendship.

He looked over at the buttons beside the lift. They weren't blinking anymore. Something was wrong. His eyes darted over to the police cab, where Keith sneered, looking in the rear view mirror. "What the hell is so funny?" Lestrade, a detective inspector who came with the police, asked, leaning into the window the janitor was seated at. "I got away." Keith said with a glint in his eye. "They probably would've found me. Guess I owe you a thank you."  
"Who would've found you?" Lestrade asked, a mixture of anger and confusion crossing his features. Keith ignored Lestrade, and glanced over at Sherlock. "And I'll probably owe him," he continued, "a sympathy card pretty damn soon."

Sherlock's mind immediately clicked as over 250 thoughts conjoined into one. "Molly," he muttered quietly.  
"And another thing, she- wait, what about Molly?" John stopped rambling and watched as Sherlock dropped his coffee and began to race off down the emergency stairs. "Sherlock, where are you going?" he asked, running after him.

As Sherlock rounded the winding staircase to the ground floor, he muttered, "Of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid!" John circled around a banister, trying to keep up with him. "You know, it's a lot easier to help you when I know what we're doing! Sherlock!" Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stopped for half a second, calling, "Do you really not get it? Molly just left through the lift, and Keith's gangbanger mates are probably out looking for him, but there's just going to find her, and God knows what they'd do to her!" John's eyes widened. "His _what?_ Since when do we have any information on him being in a gang?"

"Did you not _see _his tattoos? Of course he's in a gang!" he yelled before swinging open the door to the ground floor. "Molly!" He called, entering the mortuary. He turned on the lights and walked slowly. "If there's anyone here, we're armed," John said, taking out his gun. Sherlock, who already had his pointed at the corner, crouched down beside a slab that held a man in a body bag.

From the muddy footprints trailing to the door, Sherlock already knew that there were at least 3 men inside, confirming that it definitely was a gang. Fear rose in him as he realized that Molly wasn't in there, not even tied up. She couldn't even point a gun correctly, she had no chance of defending herself against a gang. He exhaled and closed his eyes, mentally kicking himself for not coming with her.

"Oh, God," John said, and Sherlock turned around. Chills ran down his spine as he saw a puddle of blood smeared on the floor. "Those little…" he managed, but regained his composure and stepped forward to inspect it. This couldn't be her blood. It wouldn't make any sense to wound her and then leave with her. He took a sample of the blood and gathered it in a plastic bag, then tested it with one of the many pieces of equipment on one of the countertops.

"It's not her bloodtype," he said, relief rushing over him. The type was O positive. Hers was A negative. "Then whose blood is it?" John asked, walking over to look at the test results. "Probably one of the gang members. Probably got into a ridiculous scuffle before they decided to take…" he couldn't finish his sentence, but remained calm looking on the outside.

He'd never felt as if he'd been torn apart before. In fact, he believed that people who said that were over exaggerating. But now, he literally felt as if someone had taken his insides and twisted them for their own enjoyment. It made him sick. This was the second time that Molly was in danger due to his carelessness, and he couldn't explain to even himself the guilt that came with it. He felt surges of anger flowing through him: anger at himself for not being there to help her (no doubt she'd been at gunpoint or threatened to the point of immobility), anger at the people who took her, and anger that he had no idea at the moment where any of them were.

"Sherlock? Are you all right?" John asked, looking over at him. "I'm fine," Sherlock replied, clenching his fists inside his pockets. "I have some evidence to gather, you go on."  
"You sure?"  
"Positive," Sherlock replied with an angry sigh in his voice. "Now go."  
John hesitated, then turned around, knowing he couldn't change Sherlock's mind. "All right. Good luck."

Sherlock exhaled. If luck existed, he needed it. Footprints and blood were promising detectors of who the people were, but now knowing if Molly was still alive ripped at his nerves, blurring his mind and making it nearly impossible to think.

He took samples from all of the different footprints, took up the blood sample, and found some scuffs on the wall that showed signs of struggle. Eventually his mind went into focus, and he looked for more evidence if there could possibly be any. He found an earring, and he groaned, doubting it would do any good. He slipped it in a bag anyway on the off-chance that there was DNA on it.

There was literally nothing else that seemed unsound in the lab. Out of anger and fear and frustration, he kicked the door and sat against the wall, setting his hands in a steeple shape under his nose and breathing deeply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something white. Quickly, he took it in his hands and noticed that it was a note; one in Molly's handwriting. Nothing about it was steady, her hands were most definitely shaking, so she must've written it on that very day.

_Sherlock, _

_ They're letting me write what they're calling my final words. I guess they want to kill me. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't have ever spoken to that horrible man. You're right. I shouldn't have been so trusting of everyone. You need to know, I do love you. You're frustrating and insane, but I love you. It's okay if you didn't actually feel the same way. You at least made it convincing, and that's all I can ask. You're still the most brilliant man I've ever met, and always will be. If you choose to remember any of this letter, I hope you remember that part so you don't lose faith in yourself. _

_Their backs are turned. They said that they're taking me to their hideout here in London. I don't know the exact location, but it's something about being close to an old restaurant out on 1800__th__ street. Now, I know for a fact that place is dangerous. Don't you dare come looking for me. I couldn't stand to see you hurt. Besides, thinking realistically, I'll probably be gone._

The last paragraph was definitely written the most frantically, which tore at him more than anything else. The last sentence was so shaky that it had taken him at least ten minutes to decipher. What was she thinking? She couldn't say that she was going to die. And she definitely couldn't seriously believe that he wouldn't risk everything to come and get her, could she? Could she honestly not see how much he loved her? To be fair, he couldn't show it, but he knew that he did, and he felt as though she was the only being who he could admit it about openly. He'd never felt that way before.

Besides, she'd saved him before. It was his turn to save hers.

"I'll find you, Molly," he said aloud, staring at the wall on the other side of the room. "I'll find you."

* * *

**There we go, NOW we have Sherlock's perspective! Maybe the sappiness of Sherlock in this chapter isn't exactly in character, but I think he's a great mind who hides a wonderful heart, and it shows when it's someone he cares deeply for. As always, thank you so, so much for reading and thank you for all the positive reviews, they always make my day! **

**Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or anything you'd like to point out! I'll always write back! :)**


	6. 6: Lovely

Chapter 6: Lovely

"I don't think you understand the point of writing your last words," a voice said behind Molly, causing her to jump. "They're supposed to be about three sentences long, not the size of a will."  
"Y-you're not leaving me a ch-choice," Molly stuttered quietly, afraid that she'd be killed at any second. "T-the person I'm w-writing this to d-deserves to know-"  
"I really don't care," the man said, gathering the paper, crumpling it, and throwing it at the door. "You had your chance. Come on."

Molly swallowed in fear as she allowed herself to be taken away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that they were just inches away from the wall, and the man who was leading her, who had introduced himself as 'Burch', was the only one in the back with her. The other two people were ahead, getting a car started in the back. If there was any chance to wriggle free, it would be now. Without letting herself give it much thought, she slammed herself into the wall, bringing Burch with her.

His arm swung around and his knife plunged into a blood bag, causing it to spill everywhere, including Molly. She yelped, and Burch stood up and covered her mouth with his free hand. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and trust that you just tripped," he growled. "Because if you were trying to stop me, I'd kill you right here."  
"Then do it, because I was," Molly replied, feeling strong for the few seconds it took to say it, but instantly regretted it.

"You little…" Burch raised his knife and pointed it towards her jugular, when someone rushed in through the back entrance. "Burch, what the hell is wrong with you? Don't kill her!" Molly was surprised to hear a woman's voice.  
"Lela, she was trying to get away!" Burch said in surprise.  
"I don't care, we're not supposed to kill her yet. That… why is she covered in blood?"

"I popped a bag full of blood. Guess that's only to be expected in a hospital."  
_Actually, this is a mortuary beneath a hospital, _Molly thought, but didn't dare to open her mouth again.  
"Well, great job, genius. Just what the police need to see if they catch us driving, a woman covered in blood with tears coming out of her eyes-"  
"Shut UP!" Burch yelled, holding out the knife towards Lela. She held up her hands in mock fear. "Ooh, the big bad Burch is going to hurt me. Quick, I want my mummy!" She reached into her belt and pulled out a gun that looked as if it could shoot about 6 bullets at a time. "Let me walk her. You're clearly incapable of doing it."

"You promised you'd never pull that thing out again, you know what you did last time with it," Burch said, voice trembling slightly. Molly noticed that his leg twitched, and he had huge cotton patches stuffed together around his thigh. She must've shot him with it before. At first, Molly had been relieved to hear a girl. Now she wasn't so sure that she was any safer.

"And _you _promised not to get violent with our victim, but look where we are now," she said through gritted teeth. "Get in the car. You're useless."

Burch grunted and thrust Molly towards Lela, who put her gun away and took her arm firmly but less aggressively. "Sorry about this, girly," Lela said nonchalantly. "It ain't your fault that Keith's a coward, but someone's gotta die at his expense, and you're the closest thing we got to sacrifice to them."

Molly felt more tears slipping down her face. "W-who's them?" she asked, blood draining from her face. "Well, we can't tell you that until we hand ya over, but you'll probably be dead by then." Lela said apologetically, pushing her into the car and sitting down beside her.

A voice came from the front. "Christ. Someone's coming down the stairs, I can see 'em."  
"Then go, moron!" Lela replied urgently, and they sped out of the parking lot and onto a complicated looking back road.

_Sherlock, _Molly thought, her throat closing up. All she could hope for was that he'd get her note. Really, the only people she had left were him, John, and Mary, but it seemed to hurt the most to leave Sherlock. Her life had been so perfect for quite a while, and now it was just so unfair that she couldn't see any of the people she cared about again. She'd been so happy with them, but she just couldn't stay that way.

Usually she was so full of hope that someone, including herself, would save her. At this point, though, she found herself unable to believe that she wasn't going to die. Sherlock had other cases; he had no reason to come down for her. Writing the note, she'd realized that Sherlock had saved her before, but this time was different. She didn't want him to come for her. The place she was going was dangerous, she knew the area. She'd lived around there when she was at University, since it was all she could afford. There were guns and gangs everywhere, and she'd been mugged a fair share of times. She was lucky that that was all that had happened to her, she'd heard of much worse.

Although she believed Sherlock could get through almost anything, she didn't believe that he could get through this area of town without getting shot. This area wasn't about criminal masterminds and battles of wits- it was only pure bloodshed. Everything was settled by fighting, and being smart wasn't a factor. She'd never want to be responsible for Sherlock dying. She also didn't want Sherlock to die no matter what the circumstance.

"How does she look, Lela?" the man driving the car asked. "She's either gotta look useful or pathetic for them to accept her instead of Keith."  
"She looks lovely," Lela replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I mean, we've only threatened to kill her twice, almost stabbed her one time, and covered her in blood. She looks completely fabulous, Ron."  
"God, your attitude sucks."  
"I don't like killing people," Lela snapped back.  
"Nobody does, but it's sure saving us," Ron replied gruffly.

As the two continued to quarrel, Molly stared out the window, shut her eyes tightly, and then opened them again, refusing to cry anymore. All she could do was try to get away herself, if she could. But if she couldn't…

_I'll miss you, England._

* * *

**I'm not really sure what to say about this chapter since I thought really hard about it, so how about I ask how you are for a change? What've you been up to (please keep it appropriate ^.^)? How are you today?  
**

**As always, I love feedback of all kinds, because I want to improve as a writer because writing is so fun, and I'd love to get better for future chapters and fan fictions. Thank you for sticking with this story and if you're a new reader, thank you so, so much for reading!**

**If you have any questions for me at all, please PM me. I'll definitely write you back! :)**


	7. 7: Knight in Shining Armor

"Come on. Out of the car," Lela said, grabbing Molly's arm and dragging her out of the seat once they pulled up to a strange alleyway. She noticed quickly that it was nearly impossible to see into the alley unless you went the back way on the dirt road: boxes and trash littered up the front side, and it was piled so high that all she could see was the top of a broken streetlight.

When she noticed the blood stains on the alley, she knew quickly that others had met their fates in the very spot they were leading her to. She screamed against the bandana that Lela had quite aggressively tied around her face, remarking that she was 'too squealy'.

Molly felt tears of fear tumbling down her face, and she felt her eyes becoming raw. There was a barbed wire fence wrapped around in front of a large cardboard box. Her sobs muffled against the thin fabric as she was shoved into the wire. "Stop your blubbering," Burch spat, "Or I'll give you a real reason to cry."

"If you haven't figured it out yet, moron, she already has a few reasons to cry, starting with the fact that she'll probably die soon," Ron said bitterly, rolling Molly under the wire and pushing her under so that she could sit inside of the box, giving her several gashes and scrapes.

Molly crawled into the box and sat down, hugging her knees. Lela stepped over it and bounded her wrists with a painful, scratchy rope. "Calm down, Molly," she said annoyedly. "Crying never solves any problems. Didn't your parents teach you that?" Molly squeezed her eyes tightly, rotating her wrists, trying to keep the circulation in her wrists. Blood came into her vision, and she screamed.

"Don't DO that!" Lela groaned, taking out a cloth. "You just got a cut in your forehead from the wire. Scream one more time and see what happens." Molly looked up at her, then shook her head and turned away. Lela stepped out and sighed. "All right, so when're they coming?"

"'Bout noon, I think," Burch replied stiffly. "So in about an hour."

"Maybe sooner," Ron added. "They're in a hurry today, and they're still expecting Keith."

"Well, I've decided that we can't make her look useful, so we'll try and have 'em take some pity on her," Lela replied, turning around to look at Molly, whose crying had subsided. "Hopefully they've got a little heart today." She stepped toward Molly and leaned down. "You know, I heard about that man of yours, Sherlock Holmes? He seemed like a real keeper. Don't think that he can get ya outta this one, though. Your life's gotta go to save three, all right? There's no trace of where we are that he could figure out, anyway. But he is brilliant, isn't he? Must've been nice knowing him."

Molly shuddered and closed her eyes, wishing that she could've said goodbye to Sherlock. She'd have given anything for him to be there, even if she really was dying. But this place was too dangerous for him. She wanted him there more than anything, but she also didn't want him there more than anything.

_And if you hadn't been so stupid as to trust that janitor, _Molly thought bitterly, _you wouldn't be in this situation. You'd probably be hearing about a nice homicide from Sherlock. _

She smiled slightly as she pictured Sherlock, and how his face lit up with excitement at a new case. As demented as it seemed to get excited about a homicide, he was always at his best when his mind was racing from a case. She thought of all the times that he'd kissed her in excitement, or when she'd helped him figure something out by saying something that seemed completely irrelevant but apparently linked to something, or all the times that she'd seen him laugh, which was one of the best sights she'd ever seen.

A loud sound interrupted her thoughts, and a large, beaten-up black car pulled up rather fast, and two scary, unforgiving looking men stepped out. "You're here, Nat," Burch said gruffly, extending a hand to shake. Nat returned the gesture with a punch in the face, so foreceful that it sent Burch to the ground. "Where's Keith?" Nat asked, while the other man stayed silent, arms crossed like a security guard.

"Oh, well, he's in… jail," Ron said nervously. "We um… we had to get another sacrifice. She knew about him, so she was the closest that we could get." Nat stared at Molly. "I asked for KEITH, not a pathetic looking slut."

"I'm sorry, sir," Lela said shakily. "We-we don't have anything else-"  
"You think this is some kind of joke?" Nat boomed, shoving Ron to the ground and slapping Leda across the face with his gun, causing her to hold her cheek in pain. "Why did you think that she could be a decent substitute?"

"We have nobody else!" Lela mumbled incoherently, in a daze. "I'm sorry, you said you needed a body, and we don't have his-"

"This is absolutely unacceptable," Nat said, voice rising with every word. He took out his gun and walked towards Molly, pointing it at her. "You let her know everything that's happening? Who I am?"

"No, no we didn't!" Ron tried, but Nat turned around and shot him, sending him to the ground. Burch knelt down to try and help him, but he was already dead. With another shot from the gun, Lela fell over, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Molly saw that she was dying quickly and that Ron was dead, and screamed. Nat turned back to her.

"She knows too much. You thought you'd work as a sacrifice, didn't you? Or that your little boyfriend would save you? I don't see him here. Keith probably told you a ton of bull so that you'd end up here instead of him, right? So that you'd be the closest we'd have to him, and that we'd settle? Well, we'll have to find him later, won't we? But…" he stepped forward and stared at Molly in the eye, the gun pointing at her head. "These idiots are right about one thing. I do have to kill someone today, and that's you. Sorry, princess, but there ain't no knight in shining armor that hangs around waiting to save little whores like you."

Molly's tears soaked through the bandana's side knot, causing it to unravel and fall off. She whimpered softly. "Please… don't hurt anyone I know," she stuttered in fear. "Please." Nat scoffed. "Of course that's what you care about. You're playing the hero act. Tell you what: as long as your little hero buddies don't interfere with me getting Keith back here, we won't have a problem with that."

He prepped his gun and pointed it at her, and with a boom, Molly was sent into a blaze of pain, her thoughts scrambling and her eyesight blackening as she fell backwards.

"What the- Nat, you wasted a bullet, how did you miss?" The guard yelled. "We have a limited supply!"

"SCOTLAND YARD! PUT DOWN THE WEAPON!" Lestrade's voice boomed, as three police cars stormed into the site, police officers storming the lot, getting into a short-lived shooting war with Burch, Nat, and the other man, Sherlock being the one man without cover. One by one, they all fell down, Nat being the last.

"Sherlock, go find her! We'll get an ambulance down here," Lestrade said, running back to the police car and pulling out the radio.

"Molly? Molly!" Sherlock called, running towards the barbed wire and cutting through it. He unrolled it and rushed to her. "Come on, love, easy now." Molly took deep breaths, badly attempting not to begin sobbing. "Sherlock…" she mumbled incoherently. "I-told you n-not to c-come…"

"Honestly, Molly," Sherlock replied, inspecting her wounds, voice filling with concern. "Of course I was going to. We're going to take care of your injuries, all right? You're going to be just fine, dear."

"Dear God, they shot her!" John's voice joined in. "John…" Sherlock warned, nodding towards the look of panic on Molly's face. "Oh, right. It doesn't look… that bad," John said, attempting to cover up his alarm. "Molly, you only got shot in the arm, oh wait no, the side. Yes, it's definitely the side."

"I can t-tell. It hurts," Molly mumbled, struggling not to scream or pass out. She never thought that she'd feel as though she was dying, but she felt tired, and she felt like it wasn't just sleepiness. If she fell asleep now, she would die.

"I need you to try and stay alert, Molly," Sherlock said, he and John holding her up as he brushed her hair back with his free hand. "You'll be all right, love. Just hang on." John inspected her side. "I can try and treat the wound until the ambulance gets here."

Anderson ran over with a large first aid kit and tossed it at John. "Here, it's everything we had in the back with us, we didn't expect for shots to be fired."

"Anderson, if I'd asked for moronic conversation, I'd have gone over John's chat history," Sherlock said, while John glared at him for a split second before going to treat Molly's wound.

John managed to cleanse the wound slightly and put pressure on it. "It needs a lot more care than that, Molly. Stay awake, the ambulance is almost here."

"Don't fall asleep, love. You're all right," Sherlock said softly as the blue and red emergency lights flashed, crossing into the alley. "It's okay, you're okay."

Molly still trembled uncontrollably, her thoughts unable to form a correct sentence to come from her mouth, other than "it hurts", which she chose not to blurt out. It was obvious that she was injured, and talking about it wouldn't help. Between the few sobs that would burst out of her mouth, she tried her best to stay awake, fighting the largest fatigue she'd ever felt.

As she was gently placed onto a stretcher, movement felt like a million daggers jabbing at her chest. She yelped out in pain. "I'm sorry, love," Sherlock said. "I know it hurts." He and John helped Mary (who just happened to be the paramedic at the time) plug some wires into her, and John stepped out to ride with her in the seat, while Sherlock sat beside her on top of the chair beside her stretcher, holding her hand. "You can sleep now, Molly."

"Sherlock," Molly managed.

"Molly, you need to rest," he said gently. "You're in shock."

"I…Thank you for g-getting me," she said, knowing she was about to pass out. Her thoughts turned around in her head, and she blurted out,

"I love you. Do you?"

"Honestly, Molly," Sherlock replied with a slight smile, although his whole face showed concern and slight sadness. "Of course I do. Now please, go to sleep. You're okay."

Molly closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, finally obeying and allowing the pain to settle in.

* * *

**Just to be clear, Molly's not dead. She's just passed out. :) Anyway, we're nearing the last chapters of the stories. Thank you so much for all your patience and kindness towards the series, and thank you so much for reading! All feedback is appreciated, and if you have any questions for me, please PM me! :)**


	8. 8: Robot

"Are you sure you're fit to drive, Mary?" John asked, staring at his pale, fearful looking girlfriend. "You look like you've seen a ghost."  
"Of course I am," Mary snapped, hands trembling on the wheel. Her knuckles turned white as he glanced from them up to her face. "I've seen dead people my whole life." John shook his head. "Mary, it's understandable for you to be scared. The bodies aren't usually as gnarly when you get them in the lab and-"

"John. Drop it," Mary replied shakily, putting the car in drive. "I'll be _fine_. I just… hope that Molly's all right."  
"She will be," John said assuringly. "She's a fighter, trust me."  
"What do you mean, she's a fighter? You mean she's been in worse?"  
"Well, yes. There was Moriarty, you've heard about him."  
"She's never been shot, John!" Mary said with a sharp breath. "Moriarty may have given her lashes and scrapes, but I have never seen one of my friends with a bullet in their side, and I can't think of anyone who'd deserve it less than Molly." She felt tears threatening to blur her vision, so she blinked furiously as she pulled out of the lot.

There was a brief silence, then John spoke. "I promise you, she's gonna be all right," he said quietly. "Sherlock wouldn't let anything happen to her."  
"I believe in Sherlock just as much as you do, John," Mary said sadly, "but nobody can stop a bullet from infecting once it's in their system."  
"I know. The wound isn't that deep."  
She exhaled. "Okay. That isn't the only problem. She's got a rare blood type and we don't have that much of it right now. I know for a fact that she's a really fast bleeder, and if we can't get her there soon enough, or if we don't have enough blood, she'll…" she couldn't finish, and made a sharp turn. "She just has to be okay."

"She will be, Mary." John looked out the window. _At least I sure to God hope so._

…

"This is the third time she's been hospitalized in 11 months," Sherlock said with a frustrated breath as he joined John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson (who'd just arrived) in the waiting room. "It's like she's prone to near-death experiences! Is it because of me? Well… yes, it is actually because of me, but how has this happened so many times?"  
"She's very trusting," Mary said, looking over at Molly's hospital room's door. "It happened with Moriarty, and now it's happened with that creepy janitor. Her heart's too soft for her to have an instinct of how people really are."  
"It's probably why she loves me," Sherlock said, sitting down in a chair with his back ramrod straight, his hands steepled under his chin. "In fact, I'm sure that's why this is going to be so difficult."  
"What's going to be difficult?" Mrs. Hudson chimed in, worry growing in her voice. There was a silence as Sherlock glanced at her, and looked away when she gasped. "Sherlock, you can't break up with her! Do you know what that would do to her fragile little heart?"

Sherlock breathed sharply and began to speak rapidly, the way he always did when in deep thought. "Of course I do, and it's not exactly a walk in the park for me either, but what's the alternative? Watch her get her brains blown out by the next person I end up unintentionally thrusting into her life?" He stood up. "Or possibly I could put an inscription on her grave: '_Well, at least we made it to our second anniversary, love you!'_? I'm not going to be responsible for an innocent, lovely woman's death, it's not happening."

"No, Sherlock, you can't just throw around people's emotions like that, especially Molly's!" John intercepted. "I know you could take blame about Moriarty, but how can you connect her getting hurt this time with yourself?"

"If it weren't for me, this gang of people wouldn't have gotten her, they either wouldn't have come for Keith or they would've gotten him instead, and I was just a tad late getting there this time, wasn't I? I was late enough for her to get shot in the side, a concussion, various wounds, and whiplash, and it's lucky that we got there at the time we did." He sighed and sat back down in defeat. "There's no other way that I can do it."

John fiddled with his hands as he sat back down. "Well… I don't like your decision, but I suppose I'll need to agree with it."

"What?" Mary said incredulously. "Sherlock, you have to see this flaw in your plan."

Mrs. Hudson, who was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief at all this upsetting news in one day, tilted her head in confusion. "Mary, what are you on about?" After exchanging glances with her, her eyes glinted with recognition. "Ooooh, I get it now."

Sherlock turned his head at her and narrowed his eyes in interest. "What flaw?"

Mary groaned. "Really? Fine, I guess you are men, so you may not have caught onto this yet. But you do know that when women are hurt, they tend to go to bars or casinos, correct? A little girl's night out, per say."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "Go on."

"Well, I think with all the cases you've done, you've probably found plenty of women dead in some alleyway outside of a bar or casino, correct?"

"Yes."

"All right, now how did most of those women get there?"

"Obviously, they'd get in a fight with their husbands or they'd be so drunk that they'd find a random bum who'd end up doing things that would get pretty ugly, and then… oh. I see." Sherlock sighed. "I understand that the changes of something like that happening are somewhat likely, but with all the time she's been around me, I'm still more dangerous and likely to get her killed than her going to some casino or bar. I can trust that you'd keep her away from doing that, right?"

Mary bit her lip, then nodded. "Well, yes. I am. Look, maybe being together with her is dangerous, but I don't think you understand the extent of which she loves you."

Sherlock's face turned to confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Mary, I don't think you should-" John began, but Mary ignored him. "You are her whole freaking world, Sherlock. Honestly, she thinks about you all the time, even when you're being the most aggravating human on the planet, but she even manages to love you for that imperfection of yours. And you may think that she's too soft to notice that about you, but believe me, she does. She might not enjoy thinking so, but the thought of you two breaking up would tear her apart, but wants to pretend that it wouldn't. So for you to go in there and break her heart even though she's loved you since she met you and put up with all of your crap for years would be the most horrible thing you'd ever done to her, especially if you changed your mind later."

"…push it," John finished, rubbing his temples.

Sherlock's voice turned cold and every word pierced through the air. "You don't think I feel the same way? It may be hard to believe this, but I do have emotions, it's just that I only show them when I see fit. I know how hard she's going to take this, and believe me, I've thought about how it's going to hurt her, but I'd much rather see her with her heart broken than with her organs failing. A beautiful woman like herself isn't going to die at my hands. She's the most lovely person in the world that I've ever known, which is why I want to protect her so much. In the short term, it may be better for me to stay with her, but in the long term, do you honestly believe that someone, somewhere wouldn't go after her just to get at me? Think of all those people out there who still hate me, there may even be another Moriarty out there for all I know! I'm not breaking up with her because I don't love her, I'm ending this because although it seems like the worst thing I could do, it's the _safest _thing that I could do, and I care more about her safety than her feelings, can you truly sit there and tell me that that's a bad thing to feel?"

There was a silence as everyone let his words sink in. "Wow," Mary said softly, and leaned back. "I… I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't know that you felt that way-"

"Of course you didn't," Sherlock replied, his voice back to normal. "because you view me as everyone else does. Cold hearted with nerves of steel. Just because I can appear that way doesn't mean I am that way. Nobody can be a robot."

"Sherlock-" John said as Sherlock stood up, but he ignored him and walked into Molly's room and sat down in one of the leather chairs, waiting for her to wake up, following the worst thing he'd ever do.

* * *

**To be honest (ha, ha...ha.) with you guys, this was actually a hard chapter to write. I had it planned, but I had two ways for this chapter to go, and I couldn't choose between which one I wanted to use, but I hope you're excited with the result! Please let me know if you have any questions, PM me, and I'll definitely answer you! **

**As always, thanks so much for all the suggestions and support, it means so much to me. I appreciate all feedback, so it would mean a great deal for you to leave that for me if you can! Hope you've enjoyed this story so far! So that you know, I can confirm that it'll be 12 chapters all in all. :)**


	9. 9: No

Molly's eyes flitted open slowly, and her vision focused to see the luminous surroundings of the hospital, which she found herself knowing far too well. Judging by simple things such as the position of the wall TV or the red curtain splitting the two beds, she could tell this was the same room she'd been put into the last time she was this badly hurt.

Once the pain became more vibrant in her side, arms and head, she winced as she realized that this was actually worse than the last time she was hurt. Had she really just been shot? As everything raced back into her mind, she forced herself to try and focus on the buttons of the wall TV to prevent a jumbled migraine.

Soon, it became apparent that she wasn't in the room alone. She twisted her head around and saw Sherlock, looking at her blankly. "Hello?" she said jokingly, and began to laugh before there was a sharp pang in her side that caused her to frown. "Wh… what are you doing here?"

Sherlock's face remained unchanging. "Normally, when someone gets hurt, it's customary to wait until they're well again."  
"Oh. Well, that's… nice of you, I suppose."  
"Not necessarily."

Molly's head swam in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock sighed, and began to take on the resemblance of a robot. "Molly, there's a chain of events that happen before you wind up in a hospital, and they all start with one main connection, are you understanding where I'm going with this?"

She stared in confusion. "No. Why, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Sherlock repeated back incredulously. "What's wrong? You're sitting here in a hospital bed with cuts all over your body and a bullet wound in the ribs, and you don't know what's wrong?"

Molly shook her head. "Sherlock, I don't understand what you're saying-"

"Molly, each time that you get hurt, it's because I have something to do with it, whether it's me interfering in something that isn't my place or if it's because someone's trying to get to me with some ridiculous crime and you happen to be discovered by them. As long as you matter to me, you'll end up getting hurt."

"Wha… Sherlock, I can take care of myself!" Molly said, fear rising in her throat. She started to comprehend what was coming, and the idea of it made her heart feel as if it would explode.

"Obviously you can't, if you could, you wouldn't have been shot and you certainly wouldn't be hooked up to machines that are pumping pint after pint of blood into your system that you lost!"

"Sherlock… that's all just bad luck…" Molly tried to defend herself, but panic was getting the better of her. "It's not your fault that I'm here, if that's what you're getting at, it's because of how trusting I am, you've said that yourself!"

"Of course it's my fault!" Sherlock's voice rose in irritation. "Don't you dare try to blame this on yourself, you being kind to someone shouldn't result in you almost getting killed twice. You can't seriously believe that these things would happen if I weren't around to cause them." S

Molly's eyes widened. "Yes, I can believe that, I've been in these type of predicaments for-" she stopped at stared at him. "You're not looking at me."

"Molly-"

"No," Molly interrupted. "You won't look me in the eye. The only times when you don't do that is when you know you're doing something that's going to hurt me. It's the one human thing that you've always done, even before you had any respect for me at all."

"Molly, calm down," Sherlock said monotonely, glancing at the heart monitor. Her rate was picking up, something the nurses had warned him of not letting happen.

She ignored him. "No, you're about to tell me something that you believe is going to crush me, otherwise… no," she gasped, realization pouring into her already strangled thoughts. "Sherlock, you can't-"

"I don't have a choice," he said plainly, focusing his gaze on the heart monitor. "I have to end this before you wind up getting killed. I won't' have your blood on my hands."

"So that's what you care about?!" Molly managed, hot tears springing to her eyes. "It'll look bad if I die when I'm associated with you?"

"Of course not," he said.

"Then what is it? You just don't care about me anymore?"

Sherlock said nothing, causing Molly to finally let the tears pour out. "I knew it. I knew this was coming," she said softly. "You don't love me. You don't even _like _me. You were with me out of pity, and now I'm too much trouble."

Sherlock stood up. "I'm sorry, Molly." He turned around and walked out of the door. As soon as the lock clicked, she let loose a frenzy of sobs as sadness and anger shot out of her. She was stupid. This was all just common curtouesy for him; he knew that she loved him so he returned her favors because he wanted to end up owing her nothing. She felt cheated and wronged and heartbroken all at the same time. How could he be so cruel? He'd said horrible things to her in the past, but he'd never done anything as hurtful as this. The worst part was that he probably believed that he'd done the right thing. She should've known, this was just like him to do.

Rapid, shaky breaths soon turned to slow ones as Mary came in with medication to give her. "Here, take these," she said kindly, placing two pills in her hand and giving her a glass of water. "You wouldn't believe how much convincing it took with the nurse to convince her to let me give you your medicine. Didn't believe I worked here."

She sat down gently in the chair next to her as Mrs. Hudson rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sorry, dearie," the kind old woman said gently.

"He's so terrible!" Molly exclaimed, bursting into sobs again. Mary exhaled, deciding Molly was too tired for her to explain anything. On the other hand, even with reasoning, what Sherlock had just done was still really awful. "I'm sorry," she said. "You'll be okay, I promise."

Molly swallowed and shook her head. "No. He hates me, doesn't he?"

"Of course not, honey," Mrs. Hudson said comfortingly. "You're both just in a really bad position, that's all."

"That doesn't mean he needed to be so terrible and… break up with me," Molly whimpered, feeling broken and pathetic. "It seemed so much like he loved me."

"I think he does, dear-" Mrs. Hudson began, but Mary placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her head. _Later, _she mouthed. Mrs. Hudson nodded. "We just need to focus on you getting better, okay?"

Molly tried to think of why she loved Sherlock so much. Why did she have to fall in love with someone who would never love her back? And despite her leading her on for so long, how could she still love him now? She let out a frustrated scream. "I don't understand!"

"Shh," Mrs. Hudson and Mary both drew out the word as if they were comforting a child. "It's okay, just try and go back to sleep," Mary said.

Molly closed her eyes and allowed herself to be taken by sleep, exhausted from the recent blows she'd been dealt physically and mentally, her last tears leaving her face red and streaked as her mind blared at full speed, launching her into a sad, unrestful sleep.

* * *

**There's something really sad about writing about your OTP breaking up. :( Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter (or at least thought it was good, I should say ;) ) and more will be out soon! I'm nearing the end of this story, but thank you so, so much for all the reads and reviews, they always make my day! Please leave any feedback you may have, because I love it all. And if you have any questions at all, feel free to PM me, I'll definitely write you back! Have a great day, and once again, thank you so much for your unbelievable amazingness.**


	10. 10: You are Mine

"Okay, Molly, looks like you're free to go!" Molly's doctor said happily as they stood in the lobby. Molly smiled. "Thank you so much."  
"Just remember not to put that much pressure on your side. Also, try not to walk too much. We don't want to tear those stitches open, all right?"

Molly nodded. "Yeah. Thanks again."  
"You have a cab that's taking you home, correct? Walking home's not a very good idea right now."  
"Oh, of course," she replied assuringly, waiting for Mary to pull up around the corner with the cab she'd hailed back home. At least, that's what she'd said on the phone. "I have a friend who's picking me up. She'll be here at any minute."  
"Great!" the doctor said, before fidgeting with his gloved thumbs. He hesitated and looked up at her.

"What is it?" Molly asked, feeling uneasy. "Is there something wrong with my insurance? Treatment? You can tell me if there is."

He shook his head. "No, don't worry, you're going to be fine," he smiled, and mumbled, "in about six months." Molly smiled. "No worries. I know it'll take time to heal. I'm going back to work, but I'll be sure not to move around so much until the stitches are out."

"Right." The doctor hesitated, then sighed. "All right, I know this isn't really my place, but there were numerous times when you'd wake up crying that we doubt you'll remember, after all, you were on quite heavy medication. We just want to make sure that you'll recover from this mentally, as well. We understand that the experience of being wounded in the way you were is very traumatic, and we can suggest counseling for you if you need some recommendations-"

"Oh, no, I'm really fine," Molly smled, although the rest of her expression was unconvincing. "I'm all right from my incident, I just…" her smile faded. "I just…lost a friend in the process." "I'm so sorry!" the doctor exclaimed. "I really didn't know, this is why they told me not to recommend it, but I-"

"Not in that way," Molly replied. "It was… someone no longer wants anything to do with me. Someone who was really, really important to me." She felt her eyes get misty, but blinked furiously to attempt at a conversation that didn't end in her breaking down pathetically.

The doctor nodded slowly. "I see. Well, possibly I can cheer you up a bit. Would you maybe like to… go out for coffee sometime?"

Molly studied the man. Was he honestly asking her out when she'd just broken up with Sherlock? She couldn't do that to him, it would be so rude- well, on the other hand, he didn't want her anymore, did he? Sherlock had made it pretty clear that he didn't want her around anymore. This doctor seemed like a rather gracious person. He didn't seem evil or cold hearted, and he wasn't bad looking, either…

_Molly, you can't do this, you know that there's one person you care about in that way, _she thought sadly. _Don't toy with this man's emotions. Just politely decline. _

"Sure, I'd love that!" Molly said cheerfully. _What the- what did I just say?! _Her mind screamed inside of her. That was _not _the sentence she'd meant to say.

"Perfect. How about we meet at Café Storm, right across from here, say tomorrow if you're up for it?" he asked, pointing over at the quaint little joint. "Sounds brilliant," Molly said with a smile.  
"Great," he said, stretching out a hand. "I'm Daniel, by the way."  
"Oh, all right," Molly replied, shaking his hand. "I'm Molly."  
"I know, it's on your charts," Daniel chuckled. "Oh, looks like your cab is here!"

Molly turned her head to see Mary, saying something to the cabbie, handing him some money, and walking through the large glass doors. "You ready to go?" she asked, giving her friend a gentle hug. "Uh, yeah, all ready," Molly said happily, gathering her suitcase of clothing (which Mrs. Hudson had brought her earlier in the week) and waving goodbye to Daniel.

When they were both settled in the cab and driving to Molly's flat, Mary turned to her. "Molly, what was Daniel saying to you?"  
"You know him?" Molly asked.  
"Well, I worked with him when I was still an intern."  
"Oh, I wondered where you went when the lab was still open late!"  
"Come on, Molly. Don't change the subject. What were you talking to him about?" Mary pressed with a determined look on her face.

"Oh, well, he, uh… was just giving me instruction on safer ways to handle my side, that's all," she stuttered, looking out the window.  
"Uh huh," Mary said. "And after that?"  
"Fine, he asked me out on a date," Molly replied.

Mary smiled. "Really? Did you tell him yes?"  
Molly nodded. "Should I have, though?"  
"Molly, I know you don't want to hear this, but Sherlock does love you. He's breaking up with you because he thinks it's too dangerous, it's not that he doesn't want you."

Molly bit her lip. "Then… he's got a very funny way of showing it," she replied slowly, trying not to cry. "I love him, but I have to move on. You don't have to sugarcoat it and tell me he cares when he doesn't. As much as I want him to have a heart, I don't think he does."

Mary frowned. "If you'd been in there when he was planning to do this, you'd know-"  
"Mary, it's okay, really, it is," Molly interrupted in a kind tone. "Regardless of how either of us feel, he ended the relationship. I think I'm someone he only respects- and he knew what I wanted from him, so he gave it to me, and he thinks he's paid of whatever debt he thought he owed me for helping him. The worst part about it was-" she took a sharp, shaky breath- "I'm still going to love him, even while he pushes me away. That's why I'm going out with Daniel tomorrow: I have to move on, even if I really, _really _don't want to." Mary opened her mouth to say something, but closed it and nodded. "You're probably right. I understand."

She turned away from the window and did her best to hug Mary. "Thank you so much for being my friend," Molly said, tears threatening to spill. "It means so much to me. You and John both are such wonderful people. Sherlock is, too, but you especially have been amazing people." Mary laughed. "It's great being your friend, Molls." Molly pulled back and noticed Mary's left hand, now sparkling on the third finger with a bright white diamond. "Wait a minute," she said, grinning. "Is this- are you engaged?"

Mary chuckled and nodded, showing her the ring. "Yeah, just a day ago!" Molly gasped. "Congratulations! John's one lucky man. Have you told anyone?" Mary shook her head. "Nobody around here. I called my sister and my mother, but they both live in the United States. I doubt they'll be able to come to the wedding."

"Oh, when is the wedding?"

"We're shooting for about a week from now, actually."

"Wow. That's a bit soon, isn't it? How're you going to prepare for something like that?"

Mary shrugged and smiled. "Well, truthfully, neither of us wand a big, grand wedding. It seems like a waste of time to go through all the trouble of doing that. I already have my mother's wedding dress, and he owns a tuxedo, there are only a few family members around here that can be there, and as far as food, we can just eat at the restaurant under John's flat, since we're getting married at the church around the corner around the bend."

"You have everything planned out already, don't you?" Molly said, glad to be happy for the first time in a while. "I'm so happy for you, congratulations."

"Thank you," Mary replied. "Do you think you'll be in an okay shape to come? It's not going to be anything fancy, just wear a dress and stay for a few hours, there won't be too many people there, and it won't last long."

"Of course I'll be there," Molly confirmed. "Thank you for getting me the cab home!" Just then, the cab pulled over carefully by the sidewalk in front of Molly's flat. She climbed out, suitcase in hand, and waved goodbye to both Mary and the cabbie. Once they drove off, the smile turned to a small smirk. She was so happy for Mary and John, so _genuinely _happy. More than anything, she wished that she could be more happy at the moment. Unfortunately, the idea of Sherlock was tearing at her, so when she entered her apartment, she broke down in tears.

She couldn't believe he could be so cold and disrespectful and just… _awful. _All she'd wanted was for him to love her. As she realized that that was a lot to expect out of a person, she still found herself laying down on her sofa and crying, feeling like the smallest thing in the galaxy. Not even Toby could make her feel better, and that was saying something.

Once she slowed her breathing enough, she turned over and turned on the television, hoping to lose herself by watching something mindless. A really old episode of an American soap opera, Young and the Restless, was on. The same mindnumbing plot that most shows like that had was enough to distract her for a good hour, before lulling her to sleep.

In the morning, her mobile phone began to ring loudly, bringing her into a groggy, half-awake state. She checked the number, and it was unknown. With a confused noise escaping her mouth, she touched the answer key and lifted it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hi, Molly. It's Daniel."

"Oh, hello!" Molly tried to make her voice sound extra cheerful, as if she hadn't just woken up. "What do you need?"

"Well… look, I'm sorry to say this, but I can't go out on a date with you."

Her smile faded into a frown. "Oh. How come?"

"This guy called me, said his name was Sherlock Holmes-"

"Sherlock called you?" Molly asked confusedly, feeling anger boiling in her chest.

"Yeah. Look, he told me to stay away from you, and I don't know if he's like an old flame or something, but-"

"Daniel, he can't control what I do, he doesn't even… care about me," it still crushed Molly to know that he didn't care about her. But if he didn't, why was he telling Daniel to stay away? Nothing was adding up.

"Well, I think that you need to straighten things out with him before you try and find someone else. I'm sorry it didn't work out, but maybe it will with someone else. You never know. Hope your side gets to feeling better. See you around, Molly."

He hung up before letting her say anything. With a frustrated groan, Molly threw her phone down on the floor and flopped over on the couch, ignoring the immediate pain it caused to her side, placing her hands over her face and trying to count backwards from five, which ended up failing miserably. As soon as she got to three, her thoughts scrambled. Why would Sherlock do that? Hadn't he done enough? Was he not only trying to break her heart, but ruin any chances at mending it as well? Was she that annoying, that repulsive to him, that he wanted to ruin her life?

No. He had no right to do that. Molly instantly got up and stomped to her bedroom and got dressed in a new set of clothing, putting on her best dark blue blouse and black pants. She slipped on her flats and grabbed her purse, heading out the door. Screw the not-too-much-walking advice. She marched down the streets of London, walking almost a mile to 221B Baker Street. It had been a long, long time since she'd felt so determined and so infuriated at somebody- to the point where she was nearly scaring herself.

She took a deep breath as she finally arrived to her destination. After three quick raps on the door, a tired looking John opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw her. "Oh, Molly, that's… surprising. Your wounds doing all right?"

"I'm fine," Molly replied. "Where is he?"  
"Who? Sherlock?" John asked.  
Molly nodded. "Where is he?" she repeated.  
"Look, I'm not sure it's such a good idea to see him right now, Molly," John said cautiously.  
"Well, this morning, he hasn't had any good ideas himself," she returned shakily.  
John stared at her for a second, then stepped aside, pulling the door out. "Be my guest. He's upstairs in his room, but he might be-"

Molly didn't bother to hear the rest of his sentence. She bounded up the stairs, and took a deep breath before bursting into Sherlock's room.

He'd had his eyes closed, as if he'd been thinking. His head snapped up, and his cool features showed a hint of surprise. "Molly?" he said, more like a question than recognition.

"What do you want from me, Sherlock?" she asked, voice trembling. "You don't want to be around me, yet when I try to move on, you somehow find out and mess it up? I don't understand what you're trying to do!"

There was a silence, and Sherlock stood up and walked toward her. She took a step back into the wall, but he moved closely to her, trapping her as his icy blue eyes locked with hers. "Where would you get the idea that I don't want to be around you?"

Molly blinked. "In the hospital, you… you ended this, this…" Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "This what?"

"This… whatever it is you started between us!" Molly sputtered in frustration. "I have absolutely no idea what it is that you want me to do, but you clearly don't want me with you, but now you've shown that you don't want me to move on to someone else! Did I do something or say something that caused you to feel like playing with my emotions?"

Sherlock continued to stare at her. She glared at him, and groaned, hitting the back of her head against the wall. "I'm not an experiment, Sherlock," she said softly, her eyes clouding up. "I have feelings."

"There's only one thing you've done," Sherlock said after a pause.  
"What?" Molly asked, letting tears slip down her face. "What did I do?"  
He held her face in his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs. "You've continued to amaze me."

"I… I don't… _what?!_" Molly shook her head and brought his arms down with her own. "What are you talking about?"  
Sherlock sighed. "Molly, there's one reason why I ended our relationship. You're going to get hurt. It doesn't matter how you do or who does it, but I'd much rather see you alive and sad than see you dead. Or at least, I thought I could deal with that. Unfortunately, your crying is possibly the worst thing I've ever seen."

Molly swallowed. "I can take care of myself, Sherlock."  
"Maybe in some ways, but not against the type of people I seem to attract that bring you to danger."  
"I don't understand," Molly said, her thoughts scrambling from the things he was saying. "You- I don't even think that you can stand me."

"I can't comprehend where you would get that from," Sherlock said, "But there couldn't be anything less true than that statement. Molly, how could I ever not just love you?" She gaped at him, dumbfounded. "Wait… what?"

Sherlock exhaled sharply, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "How could I not be absolutely mad about you? Everything about you is lovely. Your cheerful disposition that I so clearly misjudged, your beautiful smile, your breathtaking appearance, and your strong will and passion," He held her head in his hands once again, and this time, Molly didn't make any move to stop him. She only stared into his captivating gaze. "You're perfect, Molly Hooper. And, whether I show it or not, you are mine." He brushed his lips to hers, causing her to jump in surprise. Eventually, she sank into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss, keeping her locked in a tight embrace before they pulled away for air.

They gazed at each other, their breathing rapid. A thought came to Molly's mind, and her eyes clouded over. "What is it?" Sherlock asked, noticing almost immediately. "Please don't be doing this out of guilt," Molly said abruptly. "You don't have to feel obligated, because I'll cry if you don't want me anymore, I promise I can get over it-"

Sherlock smirked, and shook his head. "What will it take to show you that I love you? Molly, there are plenty of things that I've done out of guilt or respect, but loving you isn't by any means one of them. You're flawless, and you'd never be able to convince me otherwise. I thought that I was strong enough to let you go so you wouldn't get hurt, but it looks like I'm a coward."

"I don't think you're a coward," Molly said with a breathless laugh. "I've never met anyone braver, or more brilliant than you." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but the small smile remained on his face. "Although I don't agree, I appreciate the compliment." Molly smiled genuinely, and hugged him gingerly. He complied, wrapping his arms around her, careful to avoid her wounded side. "I love you," she whispered.  
"You, Miss Hooper, are mine," Sherlock replied softly, noticing that the smile hadn't left his face.

And for once in his life, he wasn't going to take it off.

* * *

**This is the longest chapter I've ever written on here. It was so fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it! :D Since this one is a little late, I'll try and post the last few chapters closer together. There will be 12 all in all. Please leave any feedback if you have the time, I love to hear from you guys. Also, PM me if you have any questions or comments, I'll always write you back! Thank you all for being so lovely as I write this, you've made my experience as a writer so much more fun that it already was. :)**


	11. 11: Accident Prone

Molly turned off the tea kettle and set a cup in front of her guest, pouring the steaming hot beverage as she spoke kindly. "Mycroft, you still haven't told me what you came here for," Molly said politely, although growing irritated. She didn't normally like sibling rivalries, but she really didn't like how rude Mycroft was in regards to talking about Sherlock, considering he almost never talked about him. At least, not to her, but he normally discussed everything with her, simply because she was trustworthy. Either way, Mycroft was being the perfect definition of an ass, and despite her good nature, he was really, _really _pushing it.

Mycroft, who had randomly barged in and sat down in her apartment, claiming he had to "discuss important matters" with her, sighed and looked into his tea cup, drumming his fingers on the countertop- something that always rather bothered Molly in the first place. She took a deep breath inward and smiled. "Well, I understand that you and Sherlock may not have the best relationship right now, and I'm sure whatever it is you have to tell me has something to do with him, but I don't think it's really my place to get involved in anything-" He looked up and interrupted her. "It has just about everything to do with you, Molly. This isn't really my opinion speaking, I'm here to tell you what's in your best interest in regards to my brother."

She stiffened and stayed put, standing by the stovetop. "What about him?" she asked. "Nothing's happened to him, right?"  
"No, he's perfectly… healthy," Mycroft said. "If you can call him that, given his personality."  
"I think his personality is quite fine," Molly replied defensively, letting some agitation show towards him, hoping he would wrap it up and leave.  
"Very well, you have the right to an opinion," Mycroft continued. "Sherlock is dangerous to be around."  
"Yeah, I've… noticed," Molly replied in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?  
"So dangerous, in fact," Mycroft continued, "that he would put his life on the line to solve a case in the course of a millisecond. He values knowledge, more than he values being alive. You've probably seen that trait shine through him before, yes?"  
"Mycroft, I don't follow," Molly replied calmly. She had a small idea of where he was going with this, and she wasn't exactly a fan of it. However, he was being too vague for her suspicions to be confirmed.

"What I'm saying is, Sherlock is full of games and experiements. Love isn't his… division," Mycroft said slowly. "I don't doubt that he'd give you up in a second if it meant finding a wanted psychopathic killer."  
"Then you don't know him all that well anymore, do you?" Molly asked, angry that he had the nerve to insult Sherlock that way. She tolerated insults directed at her, but she wouldn't take any about a man like Sherlock. "He may not be the nicest person on the planet, but he is good, and he wouldn't do anything of the sort."

Mycroft paused, looking at her. "You love my brother, don't you?"  
"Of course," Molly replied, not skipping a beat. She had confirmed that she'd do anything for him since the first time he'd seen him. And he could take as long as he wanted to feel the same way about her.  
"And if you were placed in a life-threatening situation with him, you would die with him, or even in his place."  
"Yes," Molly said truthfully. He'd saved her life before, and she would save his in a heartbeat, even if it meant sacrificing her own.

"Well then, Molly," Mycroft said, standing up. "I suppose you aren't as smart as I always believed you to be. Nevertheless, it is your life to live, not mine. I think you're making a very reckless mistake in staying with him. He's brilliant sometimes, I suppose, but in reality and socialism, he's quite ignorant, and no matter what the circumstance, very, very arrogant. But no matter, you seem to see something in the ridiculous human being that is my brother, and it's your decision what you do with your life, even if you throw it away for a rather dangerous man. You can't say I didn't warn you. Godspeed, Miss Hooper."

Molly waited for Mycroft to leave the apartment to shake her head in an attempt to settle her thoughts. He was wrong in saying that she was making a mistake. It didn't matter what he thought- he had nothing to do with her feelings toward Sherlock. Deciding not to think about the conversation anymore, she cleaned up the now empty teacup and put it away, turned off the kettle, and resumed what she'd been doing before: giving Toby a bath.

With the radio on and Toby's laughable state when wet, Molly had soon forgotten all about the visit, or at least it had traveled to the back of her mind. When she rinsed Toby off, he suddenly lunged at her, startling her and sending her falling backwards onto the floor, nearly knowing her out. She'd landed on her good side, which was the good news, but she soon became aware of her left wrist, which was throbbing. When she looked, she noticed that she had landed on top of it, and bent it backwards. Once she sat up and observed it more thoroughly, within seconds she knew it was broken. She groaned. Why did she have to be so accident prone?

For a second, she wondered why she wasn't screaming and crying like a child. She'd just broken a bone. Seemingly her ulna, which she'd broken before when she was in the fifth grade. Shouldn't this hurt, though? It certainly hurt in primary school, so much that she cried all the way to the hospital when the ambulance picked her up. It then came to light that this hurt much, _much _less than a gunshot and a shattered side, or rope slicing through thin flesh of her arms and hands, or being hit with a riding crop as Moriarty had done. _Wow, _she thought ignorantly to herself. _You get hurt a lot. _

Still, she had to go to the emergency room. She exhaled sharply and glared at Toby. "You're quite a ridiculous cat, aren't you?" she grumbled, staring at her hand as she pulled out her mobile. She called a cab company to come and pick her up outside of her building, deciding that her hand wasn't in a good shape for hailing one herself a few blocks away.

Grateful that the company actually had a cab to spare for her, she gathered her purse and walked out the door, not bothering to lock it as there was no proper way to do it without her left hand at the moment. In a vain attempt for it to magically not be broken, she tried to rotate her wrist, but it had completely detatched from her nervous system. She couldn't' even feel herself trying to move it. _Must be a pretty clean break, _she thought to herself with a hint of worry. Hopefully, this wouldn't get in the way of doing autopsies. This was her scalpel hand. Maybe she could find a way to maneuver the scalpel by slipping it inside of the cast they'd give her.

When she looked up, a black limo was sitting in front of her. Suddenly, her remembrance of Mycroft's visit came back as his face appeared in her life for the second time today. She sighed. "Mycroft, what do you need?" Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I see you've managed to break yet another part of yourself. And you think you're completely safe in the life and death situation that is my brother."  
"Look, my cab is coming soon, and you're probably starting to look suspicious-" Molly began, but Mycroft interrupted her. "My friend, Jared Hospin, head of the company happened to not have a cab around, but felt bad for telling a certain woman that she could get a ride. Seeing as to this is one of his limousines, and he happened to notice I was around the neighborhood-"

_Oh, you have got to be kidding me, _Molly thought, but instead smiled politely. "Well, thank you," she said as he opened the door for her to get it. "But I still don't agree with anything you said earlier."  
"Didn't say you have to," Mycroft smirked, then stepped out, telling the chauffer lady in the driver's seat to sit next to Molly. "I think I'll drive to this one," he explained, climbing into the driver's seat. "I haven't driven a limo in a while, and I should go all out with this if I'm your driver tonight."

"Nice to meet you, Molly," the girl smiled, getting out her phone and texting busily on it for the rest of the ride, leaving Molly to direct over a hundred insults about her clumsiness, which somehow lead her into riding a limousine with the last person that she wanted to see again that day. She glanced at the clock. _6 P.M. You were so close to not hurting yourself today. _Her anger towards herself quickly turned to laughter. She was pretty clumsy, wasn't she? The humor didn't last long- as she was dropped off at the hospital and checked into the emergency room, she winced at the shock in her wrist fading away and turning into pain. Right. That was why she wasn't screaming and crying earlier. Shock was a silly little thing, wasn't it? She shook her head and bit her lip as she was guided down the hall by a nurse, hoping that this was the last injury she'd have for a while. A dull pain grazed in both of her wrists, and she grew puzzled. She'd only hurt one hand, why were they both hurting? When she told the nurse, she furrowed her eyebrows and said they would have to run some tests on both of her wrists, leaving Molly in the room to grow alarmed as the pain became more apparent. She sighed in pain and frustration, hoping that nothing was going to be wrong enough to effect her work: she was going back tomorrow.

…

Sherlock peered into the microscope, observing a slide of blood for a case. His phone vibrated, and after a few minutes, he leaned backward and pulled it out of his pocket, eyes focusing on the backlit message.

You may want to go to your girlfriend's apartment rather quickly. She's in quite a bit of pain at the moment. –Mycroft Holmes

Immediately, Sherlock assumed that something had happened with her stitches. Weren't they getting taken out soon? Maybe she'd taken them out early and they'd burst open again. But why her apartment? Wouldn't she be in the hospital if that happened? He looked at the clock. 10 P.M. Possibly she'd been there earlier. So why was Mycroft involved? He hadn't hurt her, had he?

Well, he better not have. Sherlock hurried out the door to Molly's apartment, ready to knock out his repulsive brother if he'd done anything to her.

…

Molly changed into her pajamas (with difficulty) and sat on the living room floor, glaring at her cat, as the pain in her wrists continued to prick annoyingly at her. "What did you go and make me break my wrist for, huh?" she asked in a cutesy voice, laughing as she held up a teaser for him to jump at. She was attempting to get used to her new- she frowned slightly- condition. _At least it won't be forever, _she thought to herself, although she hated to think about how it would slow down her work for a while. She'd already had to leave, and she didn't want her boss thinking that she was slacking off once she was back. She also didn't plan on telling anyone about it: not even Sherlock. She didn't need to make anyone think it was too painful for her to do anything anymore. She'd just have to adjust, that's all.

There was a knock at her door that slowly grew more and more persistent as she hurried towards the door. "Coming," she called politely, rushing to the door. Who could it be at this hour? She looked in the peephole, and opened the door with surprise. "Oh! Hello, Sherlock."  
"Molly?" He replied, rushing toward her and enfolding her in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground. She giggled. "Sherlock, what are you-"  
He interrupted her by kissing her, pressing her gently against a wall, his lips moving slowly but urgently, almost like relief. She rested her braced arm around his neck, her other one resting on the back of his head. After what seemed like a short time, they parted as he carefully set her down and rested his hands on her shoulders, staring at her. "Are you okay?" he asked, alarm and concern etched in his features.

"Of course I am," Molly said, tilting her head. She smiled at his worry. "I hurt my wrist, but I'm fine."  
"No, you're not," Sherlock replied quickly, deducing her, though he knew for a fact how much she disliked when he did. She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Lying isn't your strongpoint, Molly. Actually, you weren't necessarily lying, more like holding out on me. You did break your wrist, but something else happened. Otherwise, you wouldn't be in as much pain as you clearly are by the way you're unconsciously moving your wrists or your random wincing. You didn't get a lot of treatment, whatever it was, because your eyes aren't blurred or dilated, therefore you weren't given any painkillers, probably because you refused them due to the fact that you're probably afraid of taking them on your own in fear of overdosing, probably a side effect of verifying so many people who died of cardiac arrest." He paused for a second, and ran his hands down her arms to pick up her hands while she stared at him in defeat. "Painful joints," he observed. He looked back up at her face. "Arthritis?"

She closed her eyes and sighed, confirming his deduction. She nodded and opened them. "Yeah. Reflexive arthritis. It's supposed to be temporary, and they think I'll have it for the next 6 or 7 months, but there's no official way for them to tell."  
"I'm sorry, Molly," Sherlock replied. "Your work?  
She exhaled in exasperation. She'd been deep in thought about this ever since the disagnosis. "They told me not to dissect anything for at least a month, but I'm going to do it anyway." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Molly-"

" I know the risk that it takes, but the morgue needs me, and the pain won't be so bad if I tape down my wrists. I'm just worried about twitching them and ruining a body, which obviously isn't all that convenient if I'm trying to find the cause of death. I'll just have to be more careful. I'll be fine, Sherlock," she said assuringly, watching his concerned face relax somewhat. He looked at her. "If you need any help, I'll be glad to be of assistance for you." She laughed. "Thank you, Sherlock. I think it'll be all right, as long as my boss doesn't figure it out."

"That reminds me," Sherlock said. "Mycroft told me you were in a lot of pain, which is why I came over here in the first place. Why was he here?"  
"What? I'm not in a lot of pain," Molly began, before pain seared her wrists again. "Oh, right. Arthritis."  
"Why was he here?" Sherlock repeated, picking up her wrists and rubbing them to numb the pain so she could think better.  
"Oh, right," Molly replied, relaxing at the feeling of pain in her wrists subsiding. "He came by to rant to me about… something rather annoying, and ended up being my ride to the hospital when I hurt myself." Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean by something rather annoying?"

She looked away from him. "He… he said some things about you."  
"What kind of- oh." Sherlock paused. "He told you I wasn't good for you, didn't he?"  
Molly looked down. "Yeah. He did."  
"I see," Sherlock said, letting go of her hands.  
"I don't agree with him, though," Molly said quickly, snapping her head up. "He was asking ridiculous questions and talking about things he clearly knew nothing about."  
"What did he ask?" Sherlock asked, curious. He'd never known Mycroft to ask questions, but only tell people to stay away.  
"He asked me… if I loved you, and if I'd die for or with you," she said, feeling herself blush a little.  
"What did you tell him?" Sherlock asked, emotionless.  
"I told him of course I do, and would," Molly replied.

Sherlock tilted her head up with his hand and stared directly into her eyes. "That's… beautiful, Molly. Thank you." A thought out of a million thoughts stood out in his brain. "Did he ask the same about me?"

She nodded. "I told him that you could take as long as you wanted deciding if you felt the same way." A look of pure pain and sadness flashed across his face before turning into disbelief. "What?" Molly asked, confused. Sherlock held her face in his hands. "Molly, there is absolutely no one else in this world that I care more about than you. You have to know that I would to anything and everything for you. You're flawless, and I love you."

Molly looked at him, speechless. "I… I love you too," she replied, as he drew her into a tight embrace and crushed his lips against hers. It wasn't fierce, it was passionate and simple, and what made it all the more pleasant was that it was just like him. She didn't want anyone to aggressively ravish her like she was a piece of meat- Sherlock kissed her as if she was the most important thing he had, and the most delicate. No matter how difficult he was sometimes, he was a gentleman, and most importantly, he was always himself.

Not to mention the fact that he had just assured her more than ever before about how much he was in love with her. He'd said it before, but never quite wanted to touch on the subject. Here he had said it with such passion and determination in his voice that she completely believed him. He wasn't doing this out of respect or guilt. He truly loved her. And for that, she was infinitely grateful, and felt like she was no longer capable of having problems. Her side, her arthritis, her wrist: none of them were obstacles anymore. She had never felt as together or as perfectly content as she felt now.

When they were finished, she rested her head on his shoulders as he held her. He pulled away after a minute and looked at her. "I bet John has some medication or something for you back at Baker Street," he said in concern. "As much as you don't like taking medicine, I really think you should do something about the pain in your wrists for now."

Molly nodded. "All right."

She slipped on her flats and he helped her into her coat, then they both walked down the streets. He hailed a cab and they both climbed in. "Hey there, fellas!" The cabbie said, his words slurring together. "Where to?"  
"221B Baker Street," Sherlock said, then observed him as they began to drive down the road. "Sir, are you drunk?"  
"No, but you know who _is _drunk? Your mother!" The cabbie exploded with laughter, as Molly stared at him, suddenly aware that they had a drunk driver in a busy street.  
"Definitely drunk," Sherlock muttered, rolling his eyes. "On second thought, pull over here, it's a nice night, we can just walk."

"Come ON, guys, it's just like… 4 blocks away or something like that!" the cabbie said, locking the doors. "We can, like, bond while we're going there! Don't worry, I've been driving for like thirty years and-"

There was a horn that quickly grew louder, and it slammed into the side of the cab. The driver yelled something before Molly blacked out, the cab plunging sideways through the impact and crashing into a building.

…

Sirens. Loud, scary, flashing sirens. Molly's eyes fluttered open. A man was crouched next to her, shining a flashlight in her eyes. "Miss. Miss, can you hear me?" Molly tried sitting up, but immediately fell backwards. Two sets of strong arms caught her. "Ma'am, can you speak?" the man asked gruffly. "Yeah, I can," Molly said, having to think about every word. "What happened?"  
"Your cab wrecked, miss." The man spoke to her as if explaining something to a child. "Do you remember anything?"  
"No." she said, rubbing her forehead, where there was a dull ache. She noticed quickly that it was cushioned in gauze. A slight flash of worry crossed the man's face, but he immediately gained composure. "What's the last thing you remember?"  
She sighed, growing frustrated with her brain for moving so slowly. "Leaving.. the hospital. With Sherlock. Where is he?"  
Everything seemed to freeze for what felt like hours, and the cop cleared his throat. "Uh… ma'am, let's worry about you for now."

* * *

**Well then, there's a cliffhanger for you! There's only one chapter left, what'll happen?! Thank you so much for sticking with this story and writing your amazing reviews, I appreciate it more than you know. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to PM me, I promise to write you back! :)**


	12. 12: Perfect

Molly shook her head furiously, causing a jolting headache, but she ignored it completely. "No. I know how I am right now, what happened to the other man that was in the back of the cab with me?"  
The man who had been talking to her kneeled down. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to trust us. We're going to do our best to insure his safety, but… he's not in good shape."

She froze, although tears streamed down her face. "W-what… what do you mean by 'not in good shape?'"  
One of the paramedics sighed. "Look, ma'am, I'm sorry, but he might be dying. We need your full cooperation to get both of you to the hospital."  
Molly said no, and that was about the only thing she said the whole time that she was lifted onto a stretcher and being taken to a separate ambulance from Sherlock. All she said besides 'no' was 'let me see him', but against her violent wishes and begging and thrashing, they wouldn't set her in the same car.

Once she was almost going to be loaded into the back, she found the strength to break through the restraint of both paramedics. "I'm _fine_! Worry about your other patient, because I honestly don't need any further treatment than I've already had within the past two months!" The paramedic who had told her he was dying spoke again, calmly and carefully. "Ma'am, although we believe you're okay physically, it's still procedure for us to take you in, you could be traumatized-"

"Traumatized?" Molly swallowed, nearly every word catching in her throat. "A car crash isn't going to traumatize me. Sh- the man who was with me," she struggled with her words, unable to say his name. "Him dying would be far worse than anything a car accident could do." They took a step towards her, and she took a step back.  
"Ma'am, the other ambulance can't leave unless both of you are safely being escorted to the hospital-"

"Fantastic, then let me sit in that one!" Molly replied angrily, rushing towards the back of Sherlock's ambulance. The paramedics opened their mouths to say something, but the driver stopped them. "Just let her go. I believe her. She could be mentally unstable if he dies and his heart monitor flatlines. Don't let her know if it does happen, all right?" he turned to the one who hadn't spoken to her. "Go sit in the front seat and keep the machines programmed. Keep that man breathing, even if he goes braindead. We'll break the news to her when she calms down."

The paramedic sighed, but nodded and went to the front of the ambulance while the other two men drove off in the other one empty-handed.

As soon as the ambulance doors closed and it starting moving with the sirens blaring, Molly broke down into tears, sobbing violently into her hands. How could this happen within the course of thirty minutes? She felt a pain that didn't compare to anything else she'd felt in the past two months. She'd rather have been shot as many times as that leader man -whatever his name was, she'd forgotten- had wanted if it meant that she didn't have to see Sherlock in such a state.

He looked more asleep rather than dead. She checked his heart monitor, which was going at an alarmingly slow rate. Forcing herself to breathe slower and halt her tears for a moment, she looked down at his face. Blood was smeared on his face and was caught in his hair; way too much for it to seem minor. She found herself losing it once more when she realized that he could have brain damage. He was so brilliant and wonderful, why would the universe ever cause that to happen to him? If she was religious, she'd pray, but it was meaningless to her and definitely meaningless to Sherlock.

She thought of the hard determination that was always in his eyes, and the stubbornness that was a large part of him. He couldn't die in something as silly as this. He wouldn't allow his body to shut down like that. His mind was too strong for it.

The machine seemed too… normal. It seemed to be producing a normal heartbeat, much unlike someone who had just been in a car accident, and peered at the monitor, then at Sherlock. Even through her hysterics, she could tell something was wrong. She picked up his wrist shakily, and touched two fingers to his pulse.

Nothing.

Begging to nobody in particular that she just wasn't in a good enough shape to correctly take a pulse, she blinked furiously and pressed on his wrist harder, though she knew that she wasn't doing any good. "Don't die on me. Please," she whimpered, holding his hand with her good one and crying into her other one. "I love you too much," she choked, each word feeling like paste in her throat.

Sadness quickly turned to anger, and she stood up and steadied herself under the bumpy road. "You're not doing this," she growled, and grabbed the shockers that were in the equipment bin. She didn't care if she wasn't certified to use them- she'd been trained when she got her MD, and although she'd only used them once, she decided that there was no other choice.

"What are you doing?!" The paramedic and driver both called. Molly ignored them completely and rubbed them together vigorously, trying to concentrate in this last determined attempt to save his life. He'd saved hers plenty of times, and she refused to let him die while she was there. "Don't you dare die on me," she said, bringing them to his chest. His body shook furiously from the electricity, and the heart monitor went crazy, shutting off for a matter of seconds as the ambulance roared on, the paramedics and driver both yelling various comments back at her. "What did you just _do?!_" was the main thing that she could comprehend.

She sat down before the ambulance screeched to a stop. They'd arrived at the hospital.  
"Ma'am, what the-" the paramedic fumed, throwing open the doors, both bodies rushing to Sherlock's. "You weren't going to do anything, and I'm a doctor, what did you expect me to do?!" Molly asked hysterically.  
"We were getting him into the proper care!" The paramedic argued, although her cheeks turned a scarlet red, which told Molly otherwise.

The driver opened his mouth to say something, but they turned around as they heard the heart monitor return to normal.

There was the faintest heartbeat ever seen, and it slowly flatlined.

Molly stared at it and more grief-stricken tears sprung to her eyes. "No," she whispered. The other paramedic, who'd just pulled in next to them, hurried over. "We'll make one last vain attempt to revive him, get him to the ICU, right now." The two paramedics wheeled him out and ran into the hospital as soon as the drivers disconnected the necessary wires.

It was silent as Molly stood, frozen in shock, watching the now turned off heart monitor. "Ma'am…" the driver started.  
"No," Molly said, voice cracking, holding up one hand. "Don't. I'm… going back to work."  
"Work, ma'am? Look, we know this can be very upsetting to lose a loved one-"  
"No," Molly repeated, taking a slow breath. "I work here. I'm the pathologist."  
_Oh. That explains your little… reviving attempt_, The driver thought, but shook his head. "Ma'am, I don't think you're stable enough to handle your work right now-"

"I promise you," Molly said slowly, confused with herself but attempting to sound confident and together, tears still sliding down her cheeks, "I'm… okay. It's him that isn't. He'd… want me to go back."

"Ma'am, if I may, it looks like your hands-" the driver observed, seeing the painful inflammation showing through her veins and joints. "I'm capable of doing my job. It'll distract me, all right?" she snapped.

The driver stared at her for a second, and then relented. "Suppose it's better than waiting in the ICU. Do whatever you want, just stay in the building. I'll alert them to deliver news to you in the lab if… anything happens," he said dubiously.

"Good. He'll live, I know he will," Molly lied to herself. In her mind, she knew that this was an unreasonable statement, but she shook it off.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid he's probably-"

"I know he will," she said firmly, and hurried away and into the hospital, bolting through the doors, grateful that nobody attempted speaking to her. She ran to the emergency stairs and thundered down them until she was on the lab's floor.

After racing through the familiar lab doors and sitting down against the wall next to them, she held the sides of her head in her hands as memories of him raced into her mind. Painfully, realization crashed into her.

He was never going to storm through those doors again.

He was never going to deduce anything again, or solve another case.

He was never going to greet her again, or have anything else to do with her.

He was never going to do anything again at all.

He was gone.

He was gone forever.

All the times that she'd cried in the ambulance, after the accident, and before the accident didn't compare to the tears that she shed now. Her side felt as though it would burst, and her eyes and face felt raw. The darkness and cold of the room were both things that she felt a bleak gratitude for: she didn't want to see anything. She'd truly planned on working when she got down here, but that was absolutely out of the question at the moment.

_Would he have wanted you to respond this way?_

A tiny voice shocked her, one that came sharply from the back of her blurred mind. Her crying subsided, and she took a deep, shaky breath. As if the voice was a person rather than a thought, she shook her head.

_No. He would've wanted you to get up and do something other than cry like a baby. He's gone, and you'll have to deal with that. Wake up. He died, not you. Get up right now and do something. _

After a long pause, she found herself able to stand up and turn on the lights. They flickered on the same way they always did.

_See? Everything's the same; he's just not here anymore. _

She shook her head furiously, and picked up and shuffled a stack of fresh reports. With much difficulty, she managed to quiet her head and focus on her work and only her work for a few hours. She pulled out bodies, unzipped bags, and although she had difficulty with her wrists, she managed to dissect the people without too much difficulty. Every now and then, she'd grab her wrists, but then she'd begin thinking and force herself to work harder in order to distract herself. She knew that she couldn't do this forever, but it was an easy fix for now.

The garage door of the morgue, something that was found irritating by everyone who worked there, opened up. There was a delivery of fresh bodies. She noticed as the delivery man wheeled in 3 of them. "OH!" he exclaimed when he saw her. "I'm sorry, usually when I make delieveries, nobody's in here."

Molly looked at the clock. 3 A.M. "I'm, uh… working overtime today," she said, surprised by how wide awake she was. "It's all right, just wheel them over here, I'll work on them next."

The man nodded and wheeled them over, then tipped his hat and walked off, shutting the garage door. "Okay," Molly said to herself, trapping her mind yet again to only think about dissections and work. The first bag was easy, so easy that she didn't even feel the need to dissect. It was a man in his mid 60s, according to his file that was slung over the end of the slab. Arthur McDowell, 65 years old, overweight, type B diabetic… she checked his fingernails, which were yellowed at the ends. Next, she checked his teeth, which were yellowed. Smoker. She made a sympathetic sound. He'd had a heart attack, and his lungs weren't strong enough to keep him fighting through it.

She marked the cause of death as a heart attack, and unzipped the next bag. This was a young woman, and according to the file, in her late 20s. 29. With one simple look, she could tell that it was drugs that killed this one. She had no previous medical emergencies, but a rather long police record of theft and drug possession. Molly ran a blood test on the fast computer that she'd grown so accustomed to since she'd begun working there, and found that the woman's veins had been injected with meth. She picked up the clipboard. Judy Darrell, Cardiac arrest, drug type: Meth.

The third body bag even had a new bag: she could tell, because it wasn't even cold. She started to unzip it, feeling sorry for whatever family was probably still here, just now learning the news that their relative was dead-

No.

_Nonononononononono._

_Sherlock._

"Sherlock!" She yelled, jumping back and dropping her scalpel, bursting into horrible, heart-wrenching, throbbing sobs. Her whole body felt as if it would collapse, and for that matter, she believed it would happen within the next few seconds. The most cruel blow possible had been dealt to her, and she couldn't take it. "Sherlock," she repeated incoherently, sobbing.

She'd thought that she'd gone through the worst of it, but this didn't compare.

This was torture.

He was never, _ever _coming back. Ever. And that was the worst pain that she'd ever felt in her whole life.

She swallowed, and attempted to speak. No matter how ridiculous it was, she had to say goodbye to him, for sentimental reasons. "G-good-b-b-bye, Sherlock," she said, her voice sounding strangled and

Suddenly, she heard- was that a laugh? _Great, you're hearing things, _a random thought echoed in her mind, as she continued shaking and sobbing. _It's your imagination, don't kid yourself. He's not alive, Molly. _

But the voice was very apparent when she heard it the second time. It was laughter, but the very, _very _rare laughter that came from only one person whom she'd ever met.

"There's no need to cry and say goodbye to someone who's not dead, Molly. Actually, there's no need to cry over me at all. Come now, you'll get your brace wet." Sherlock's body sprung up and he jumped off of the slab and, with a very casual I-didn't-just-hop-out-of-a-body-bag-and-scare-the-living-daylights-out-of-you-while-you-greived-over-my-death expression, ran to her and embraced her, locking his arms around her. "It's all right, love. Calm down. You really thought that I would die like that? That's probably the most ignorant way to die, and when I'm gone, it'll be something much more meaningful than _that_."

Much to his confusion, Molly jumped back and shrieked, staring at him with major distrust. She gaped at him, and reached out to touch him. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her upper arm, drawing her into a hug again. "Yes, Molly, I'm real. Not a figment of your imagination. You're not quite that mad yet, are you?"

Molly continued to stare at him, and he chuckled and wiped her tears away. "Come on, Molly," he chided in his usual, calm voice. "I'm not dead, okay? I'm perfectly fine, and so are you."

"You… why did you… why did you just…"

"Get up from a body bag? The car accident did slow my heart, but you apparently revived me. They didn't even bother checking to see if I was still alive after you did that, they only put me in a bag and shipped me down here after an hour, because they were making sure that you were gone."

"So… why didn't you… say something when they were putting you in a-a body bag?" Molly asked. Her crying had stopped by this point because of confusion and the most ridiculous amount of joy that she'd felt in a while, but also a little angered by the careless staff. But she was mainly confused as to how in the world Sherlock would let himself be presumed dead and stuffed in a bag to be brought down there.

"For an experiment," Sherlock answered honestly, and Molly rolled her eyes and hit his arm playfully, then winced at the pain it caused her wrist. "You could've been strangled in there!"

"Well then, you could've dissected my body and just presumed me dead anyway," he replied at a terrible attempt to make a joke.

She looked up into his eyes. "Way too soon, Sherlock."

"Well then. I'll joke about my almost death later."

"Wait… do they know you're alive?" Molly asked, thankful for her breathing to be regulated now that she'd been able to make sense of everything that had just happened and calm down.

"No," Sherlock said.

"Isn't that something you should tell them before the press puts it everywhere?" Molly said with a smirk, knowing exactly what his reaction would be.

"I don't care at all about the press, they just want pictures of me in that _ridiculous _hat," Sherlock replied, irritation edging in his voice.

"Even so, you can't solve cases when people think you're dead. I think you've been down that road before," Molly said.

"I suppose you have a good point," he replied. "I'll go let them know that I'm breathing." Molly laughed, and before leaving, he turned around. "Are you okay now?"

Molly smiled. "Yeah, everything's perfect."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows at the answer. He didn't think anything could be completely perfect, and he couldn't understand how she seemed to be so much happier knowing he was okay, but contrary to what he'd thought before, it was nice to be cared about.

He nodded to Molly and exited out of the doors to go and inform the staff not to put him on record as a dead man. As he walked, he couldn't help but wonder why Molly cared so much for him, or why she seemed to find him so extraordinary. Normally, when his fans thought that, it annoyed him. Instead of admiring him, they _could _go and do something else.

But with Molly, it was different. She was unique, different, and beautiful. Hopefully by now she knew how much she was cared for in return. If he had to have a definition of the word perfect, he supposed that he would use her.

He smirked as he thought of 'perfect.' _Perfect, _he thought as he heard the gasp of the woman behind the counter, who was holding his record. _What a silly word._

* * *

**The end! I hope you enjoyed it! **

**I have some people to thank, though. **

**First off, YOU GUYS. ALL OF YOU. THANK YOU SO, SO, SO MUCH. Your reviews and feedback have been wonderful, and I love that you all have taken an interest in my writing. It means SO much to me, more than you know. You don't even know- every single review puts the biggest smile on my face. So thank you so much for being all you amazing readers, writers, and reviewers. Please continue to be awesome. Here is some internet cake for you. (/^.^)/*****(cake)*******

**In fact, I'm going to thank all of you personally. So here it goes!**

**Lais89- You're just awesome. Thank you so much for all the PMS and questions and just really wanting to communicate with your favorite authors and really getting into this story. It means a lot. J**

**Coloradoandcolorado1- You were the first review, and stayed a loyal reader/reviewer the whole time that I wrote both Obvious and Honest. Thank you so much for being there to leave your interesting feedback. :D**

**Zora Arian- Thank you so much for suggesting the bit about separating the paragraphs. I can see a large difference now by how I wrote the first chapter to how I wrote the last one here because of that, and I think it's easier to read now. **

**RockingtheRedhead- Thank you for always reviewing. No matter if it was just a few words or a paragraph, you always have told me your thoughts, and that's awesome.**

**Lasergirl77- Thank you for telling me what you thought was amusing! It's helped a lot, because now I know when to not hold back putting in silly little bits such as Sherlock thumping John on the head.**

**AdaYuki- Thanks for encouraging me to take my writing in a different direction than I thought necessary at first. It's helped me gain the courage to do more… well, courageous things my my fanfictions!**

**MorbidByDefault- You are most definitely the funniest reviewer on the planet. You definitely have a strong position in the Sherlock fandom, and you're very into the fanfictions. Your little episode of a review in Chapter 11 made me laugh for about 5 straight minutes.**

**Magicstrikes- You have been there since the beginning of Obvious, which means a lot to me. Thank you for being so loyal, it's meant so much to see your feedback. I'll always remember you as the first person to ever review my fanfictions, and I'll always remember that you continued to read them!**

**Empress of Verace- Thank you for always putting things such as 'LOVED IT!' Believe it or not, it always put the biggest smile on my face, because I think your kindness towards my fanfictions are great. :D**

**Sherloky- You're not alone in wanting Molly to be okay. I think you're one of many people who commented 'poor molly!' but it still stuck out to me just the same. Thank you for reading and reviewing, you're awesome.**

**Dd- Thank you for your review! I'm not sure how to pronounce your name, though. It's two consonants. Maybe like "Dud!" Or just D.D. I'm not gonna judge. xD Thank you for reading, means so much!**

**Anon- Well, you may have chosen to remain anonymous, but I appreciate your feedback all the same and I'M GONNA THANK YOU ANYWAY. Thank you for your review! :D**

**Fireflygirl1995- Nononnonono. Thank YOU for brightening my life by making a sweet review like yours! You're so nice and awesome! *gives cookie with sprinkles* Also, WE SHARE THE SAME OTP OH MY GOODNESS HIGH FIVE SHERLOLLY FOREVER!**

**Molly S- Your-your name. It's… it's Molly. OHMYGOODNESS YOU ARE SO LUCKY! Do you like having the same name as Molly Hooper? If you could leave a comment to answer that, that'd be awesome because I honestly want to know. xD Sorry, I'm a dork. But thank you so very much for your reviews, and thank you for reading!**

**Guest- Yeah, sometimes Sherlock can be stupid. At least emotionally. Or maybe it's just the way that I write him :D Thank you for the review, I hope you enjoyed the story!**

**misszelda3290- I'm so sorry that my story kept you from doing your homework, that's always most important! *bad stern face* *smiling* Well, unless you're reading fanfictions. I do the same thing xD Thank you for the read and review! You're awesome, thank you for saying you love my story 3**

**Again, overall, THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU GUYS. Please PM me if you ever have any questions or comments, I will write you back! **

**Until my next fanfiction starts, have beautiful days and continue to be your awesome selves! You may not have noticed yet, but you brighten and make my day SO, SO MUCH. And I really, really appreciate every single one of you. Even if you didn't review but still read this, you are awesome, and I hope that you'll continue to enjoy my writing!**


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